


The Words We Weave

by AtticusKaine



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: And Somehow also a Hopeless Mess, And a Hopeless Mess, But They'll Make it Work, Callum is a Low-Key Genius, Extremely Slow Burn, F/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Series, Rating Will Definitely Vary, Rayla is a Flirt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-12-25 13:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18262601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtticusKaine/pseuds/AtticusKaine
Summary: Callum and Rayla have been invited to stay in the castle for the winter. Well, less "invited" and more "politely commanded by a worried king". It gives them a chance to relax, for sure, but it may also be the chance they need to explore their feelings for one another...





	1. Weaving Words

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is actually my first fic. Just wanted to thank Jellyjay for some peer editing and words of encouragement. Hopefully y'all like it as well. Constructive criticism welcome.

Winter had come to Katolis, the third since war had been narrowly avoided by the presentation of the Dragon Prince to his grieving mother by a prince of the same nation and his Moonshadow companion. The same prince and elf who had then embarked upon a seemingly endless tour of duty across both the lands of the Pentarchy and the elven lands of Xadia. Thankfully, theirs was only rarely a violent mission, and even then, the greatest threats they could hope to face were the occasional bandit or the stray monster that crossed their path. For their part, the two had given them a plethora of reasons to reconsider their decision. When they didn’t, when they insisted on pushing their luck, they found themselves quickly outmatched by the first human archmage and an extremely skilled Moonshadow assassin. It almost wasn’t fair.

   For the most part, their greatest enemies were prejudices, paperwork, and petty rivalries, three p’s which the aforementioned archmage was beginning to think had nothing on bandits and monsters. Callum sighed into his tea, breathing in the fragrant aroma of a familiar blend, before delving back into the latest treatise. Ezran would tell him to take a break, that they had diplomats for a reason, but Callum was rapidly pushing them out of business. Awkward in conversation as he might have once been, his maturity had been matched by an increase in confidence. Combined with an excellent memory and a keen intellect, the young archmage had quickly set to mastering the fine art of diplomacy. An art he had come to realize was less about mastery and more about flattery. And when flattery didn’t work… well, then he had a much blunter instrument.

   Callum turned the thought over in his head, welcoming the intrusion for the chance it gave him to consider one of his favorite topics. Modified it. Thought about the words and rectified his previous assessment. Calling Rayla blunt seemed… wrong almost. She could be a hammer when she needed to, especially when it came to breaking down the prejudices of the humans and elves they often found themselves interceding between. Where Callum was thought, Rayla was action. Blunt at times – and sarcastic even more often – but also elegant. And witty... And graceful… And beautif-

   Back to the treatise. No time for whatever that was.

   Of course, the more he tried to focus on the parchment before him, the more he put the quill to it and dripped ink into the scratches he made, the less the words came to him. And words had been his thing as long as he could remember. Sure, he could hardly string a sentence together when he spoke to Claudia not so long ago, ( _Gods, was it really only three years?),_ but he’d since become accustomed to having the right words for the right situation. Carefully selected and arranged, they had the power to change hearts and minds. To quell conflicts. To bring about a lasting peace. It was one of the reasons Callum so vastly preferred writing to speaking, but he’d grown into his talent with the latter. Mostly, he realized, due to Rayla.

   _He couldn’t count the number of times he had gone on rants while the two of them had travelled together. At first on their journey into Xadia, when she’d groan and complain the moment she saw his mind turning something over. It was pointless, she knew, but the exasperated “No more long speeches!” had become as much a part of the routine as the rant itself._

   Later on, she’d tell him it was one of the things that drew her to him. The furrow of his brow, the passion in his voice. It all came together to show her just how much he cared for what he said.

_And the more she listened, the more he spoke. The more he spoke, the better he became. And eventually, she joined in. It took them years, but some of his best memories were of the two of them bantering back and forth over whatever topic he had picked out that day. His voice, constantly shifting and working his point across like a needle through thread. Rayla’s calmer, more confident, her accented tones sneaking through his case, poking holes, assassinating points. It was a dance to the two of them, and it served them well when it came to performing their duties as ambassadors between their peoples. But when it was just the two of them, weaving their eloquent voices through one another’s perspectives, it was as if the entire world fell away._

   Callum looked down at the treatise and swore. Previously the first paragraph of an agreement intended to be signed between a human mining town and a band of Earthblood elves, the last “e” had trailed off into a familiar profile. The outline of a face fanned by a mane whose silky white he could see now. Moonlight had nothing on its luster, water nothing on its shine. Had he really drawn her so often that he could do it without thought?

   _But had it really been thoughtless? He distinctly recalled a focus to his reminiscence, focused less on the effects of their conversations and more on the way she had spoken. Her lips curled in, her eyes distant as she considered and then rebutted whatever he had said. Their conversations, so often held at night, granted firelight to his mind’s image._

   His hand flew out, the shading coming almost subconsciously as he fell deeper into the twin wells of her amethyst eyes…

   _Suddenly focused. Hawk’s eyes caught upon prey and prepared to pounce. It was foolish to use that point. He had known from the moment it left his lips and like he knew she would, she had seized upon it, tearing that entire part of his case to shreds with a few carefully chosen words. He pulled back. Reconsidered. Then pressed forward. Another rebuttal already prepared. He had laid his trap, and she had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Her eyes had changed then as well, a light pink spreading across her cheeks…_

Hard to replicate with black ink, but Callum had spent years working with little more than charcoals on their journeys. Even now, surrounded by the carefully organized supplies of the room he’d come to refer to as his office when he spent time at the castle, he enjoyed the challenge. The parchment the treatise was written on was hardly an ideal medium, but it wasn’t like he could use it for its intended purpose anymore. Now, where had he been…

   His train of thought was interrupted by a noise that nearly had him out of his seat before he recognized its source. Half a rune drawn before him, the word already on his lips, Callum scowled at the laughing elf who’d snuck up on him.

“Ancients Callum, you often call down the storm’s wrath down upon your friends? ‘Oh, you can’t sneak up on me anymore Rayla, I know your step too well.’ What a load of nonsense, you got lucky just the once.”

The smirk on her face was, consistently, the most aggravating and the most stunning thing Callum could think of. He could do without the snark in her voice though. He _had_ grown accustomed to the way she moved and, despite her lifetime of training, years spent together had given him something of a sense for knowing when she was trying to sneak up on him. He blamed the distraction of his art, as he often did, a distraction which had now seemed to have caught Rayla’s attention.

“Callum, is this the treaty you insisted on writing?”

   He wilted a bit at that, drawing into himself as he followed her gaze to the piece of parchment on the desk. _(She hadn’t really looked at it, had she?)_

“Maybe.”

“In the grand course of events, it may be necessary for us to sacrifice individual comfort for the greater good, especially when that good is related to the growing peace between our two peoples… Yep, seems like your usual prose. Of course, I hardly think a drawing of me will do much to help reach an agreement over mining rights, fetching though I may be…”

   Callum had grown used to Rayla’s latest brand of humor, though he’d never expected her to attempt flirtation to get under his skin. It was, in his opinion, a very low blow, which had prompted a response from her that still set his face burning when he thought about it. The only reason she’d kept to it was because of how effective it was, though he was certain she didn’t know why that was. Didn’t realize that every time she said something of the sort that it set his heart hammering, dried his mouth, and weakened his knees. But it was alright. Two could play at that game after all, and he wasn’t above throwing a few barbs back. In the moment, reveling in her blush, he could almost imagine that there was intention behind their words. That it wasn’t just another game they played. Another dance they wove with words.

   “Well, maybe if we could work a fraction of your womanly charm into your everyday speech we wouldn’t have to deal with so many disgruntled men.” He teased, drawing himself up to her, scarce inches between them. He had to look slightly up to meet her eyes, a difference in height that she’d never let him live down. In his ceremonial robes, complete with the ridiculous boots they’d given him, they met eye-to-eye, but here, without any such aides, he was the shorter of the two. More so if you counted the horns. ( _She did, he didn’t.)_

   “What can I say Callum, maybe I just have a natural affinity for exposing the insecurities in otherwise full-of-themselves dignitaries.” Came her response, drawing forward. Closing distance. Eyes locked dangerously on his own, smirk widening.

“Or you’re just incredibly annoying and enjoy being a tease.”

“Is that what you think I’m doin’ Callum, teasing you?”

She drew closer then, all but flush to him. He backed away instinctively, his back caught against the resistance of his writing desk. One of her hands perilously close to his own as she placed them to either side of him as she leaned forward. Eight fingers grabbing the desk, boxing him in. Her face was close to his, too close. She continued, finally coming to a stop with her mouth at his ear.

“Because frankly, that’s just ridiculous…”

He could hear the sarcasm in her voice, all but feel the smirk that must have accompanied it. He leaned in himself, prepared to retort, when he heard the door to his chambers open, a familiar voice accompanying the entrance.

“Callum, have you seen Bait anywhere. He and I were playing hide and seek, but I haven’t seen any glowing tapestries around the north side of the castle, so I came here next and… Oh. Oh boy. Uhm, you guys seem busy so I’m just going to… go. Yeah, go!”

Callum barely had time to turn to look, just enough to see Ezran’s form disappear around the corner before he was falling forward. Rayla, leaning against him like she did, had been supporting him, and when she had hurried to disengage herself at the sound of Ezran’s voice, she had taken that support with her. Sprawled on the floor, face burning like he was staring into an oven, Callum could only watch as her eyes darted to his, her face looking like his felt, and then to the door.

“Ray wait, it’s no big de-“ He began to say.

But she was already gone, the door slammed shut behind her, leaving Callum lying on the floor, trying desperately to understand what had happened.


	2. We Stumble and Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rayla begins to break down her barriers. “Breakfast with Ez”.

The door slammed shut behind her and Rayla crumbled against it, burying her head in her hands. Each thought driving the spike of embarrassment deeper and deeper into her psyche.

_What did Ez think her and Callum were doing? What had she been doing?_

Rayla considered the thought for half a moment, then tossed contemplation to the wind. She’d known exactly what she’d been doing, but she certainly wasn't expecting that particular response from Callum. That endearing blush cut across his face, the little noises of surprise he’d made as she drove him back against the desk. The mere thought of it set her heart racing. She’d been so close this time, had felt the tension between, and then Ezran had walked in on the two of them. What he had walked in on though was anyone’s guess. She certainly couldn’t pick through those feelings.

 “Damn it all!” she whispered to the empty room. The blush was beginning to fade, the embarrassment with it, leaving nothing but frustration and shame in its place.

_What exactly had she planned on doing, all but forcing herself on her best friend like that? She wasn’t some frivolous noble’s daughter, intent on fawning over prince Callum like so many of the suitors who had flocked to the castle since the war had ended. She was an assassin. At least formerly. She had stalked prey for a living. Had intimidated people even. Hell, she still did._

But it didn’t seem to work with Callum. Every time she pushed, he pushed back, and he knew exactly what it took to put her on her back foot. But she’d finally had an advantage over him. He wouldn’t

“Incredibly annoying my arse!” came another whisper, the latest in a long line of half conversations with her chambers. Rooms she’d taken at Ezran’s insistence. Directly across the hall from Callum’s, but also painfully distant. Rayla longed for the simplicity of the road, when the two of them would lay side by side under the stars. Or huddle together for warmth when the wind drove them to shelter. In fact, that was exactly what she’d been hoping for this winter. Sure, they’d have a job to do – they’d always be on their way to someplace or another – but travel takes time, and time was exactly what Rayla needed to figure out her feelings.

_What feelings, exactly?_

Here, it was just endless busy work. Try though she might, Rayla had never yet figured out why humans always had to be doing something. Pulling herself up off of the floor, Rayla stalked towards the far window, letting the light of the waning moon cross her face. There was always some meal, some meeting, some incredibly important event designed to capture their attention. So few of them simply knew how to… be.

Save for Callum of course. Callum, who was content to sit with her as she stared out over some vista for hours on end. Sketching away in that book of his. That book he never let her see, save for brief glimpses here and there. She treasured those moments when he’d truly open up to her. Whether it was seeking her approval for one of his sceneries or just the smirk as he flashed her a particularly unflattering image of one of the many pompous dignitaries they’d grown so very fond of. All of it accompanied by that same spark. That same mischief she’d grown to expect from him. That same spark which set her heart racing when it was turned on her…

_Right, those feelings._

As if on cue, a knock sounded on her door. The same one he always used. She smirked at the predictability of it all.

“Ray? You alright?” came Callum’s muffled inquiry.

He was worried. Of course he was worried about her. The subconscious grin that had spread across her face at the sound of his voice turned to a grimace as she was broken from her introspection. Panic set in as Rayla considered her options. Should she answer? What would she say to him? It had never gotten… physical like it had just moments ago. Rayla was uncertain of what she had been aiming for with that particular stunt.

_Had she really whispered in his ear?_

“I just uh… Just wanted to make sure that you weren’t taking it the wrong way. Ezran doesn’t really get the whole ‘friends’ thing. He kind of just draws his own conclusions you know? Can’t really blame him though. It must have been quite the sight…” His voice trailed off, nervous laughter cutting off his speech. Rayla wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor. She could practically feel the confusion in his voice, the hesitation. She’d really messed up this time.

“I-I’m fine Callum.” Came her own voice, and she hated the lack of surety the moment the words left her lips. “Just wasn’t really looking for an audience.”

“Can I come in?”

“Why, so the guards can walk in on us next?” Right, guess she was defaulting back to teasing.

_She wasn’t a tease, was she? Hell, she was a bit of a tease. But why?_

“Walk in on us doing what exactly?”

_Shite. No answer for that one. At least, not one she could think about right now._

“Oh, you know… Having a conversation” came her response, the end of her sentence trailing off precariously. Rayla could almost imagine the last of her dignity flying off with it.

“That wasn’t like any conversation I’ve ever had… Listen, I just wanted you to know that it was no big deal. I didn’t really mean what I said. I don’t think you’re annoying Ray. You’re practically the only person I can stand most of the time.” He was rambling now. Backpedaling. Trying to save face, but was it because he was being sincere, or just because he pitied her? How long had she expected to be able to needle him without him biting back? And why had it set her so on edge? Try though she might, she couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through her chest. Beating it back, trapping it in the cold vice of insecurity, she replied.

“It’s fine Callum. I just- I just need some space right now.”

“Right. I’ll uh, leave you to it then.” Silence, then another knock. “Goodnight Ray.”

She could practically see him through the door, the dejection evident in his voice bending his shoulders in on himself. She’d seen it so many times, but she’d never wanted to be the one who caused it. They were always quick to apologize when one went too far, were close enough to know when that was, but things had gotten so confusing lately. Their friendship wasn’t so easy as it had been, and her acting the way she did hardly did anything to help it along.

Frustrated, confused, and more than a little overwhelmed by the emotions that swirled through her mind, Rayla threw herself against the bed. The muffled thump of too many pillows only serving to remind her how far outside of her comfort zone she was. She let out a single aggravated sigh, reveling in the momentary relief it provided, then stared up at the thick canopy above her. Couldn’t even see the stars. It was going to be a long night.

 

\---

 

Morning found Ezran sleepily emerging from his chambers, Bait tucked under one arm. The poor glow-toad had finally sought him out - his perpetual grumpiness only aggravated by being forgotten - only to find his master deep in thought. He’d looked down at him, realizing who he was looking at and pulling his forlorn pet into his arms with a chorus of apologies, only to look away again. His thoughts elsewhere.

Revisiting those thoughts brought a smile to his face. It was about time the two of them realized what they felt for each other. He was just surprised it had taken so long. Watching them dance around each other, even for the few days they had been there, was aggravating to say the least. Of course, then he’d seen Rayla run out immediately after him, her door slammed shut before he’d taken more than a few steps down the hall. Maybe he didn’t want to know what they’d been doing if Rayla had been so embarrassed at being caught.

Ezran’s path brought him to the dining nook tucked away in one corner of the castle, a warm little room where he’d shared many a private meal with his father and brother. Since they’d returned to the castle a few days past, it had served as their dining room as well. Had given them a chance to catch up after months apart. Grin widening, Ezran walked under the arch and into the room, eager to playfully tease his oldest friends for what he’d thought was confirmation of what he’d known for so long.

“Good morning lovebirds.” Came his singsong voice. “Sorry, but there’s no door for me to open… this time…”

His voice cut off at the sight before him. Callum, doing everything in his power to look anywhere but at Rayla, only for his eyes to inevitably drift back to her. For her part, Rayla seemed to have taken a sudden and intense interest in the artful arrangement of pastries on her plate. They both flinched noticeably at the mention of the previous night’s events, Rayla actually blushing as her focus narrowed even further.

_Since when does Rayla blush? Unless…_

Ezran sighed internally. Of course it wasn’t that simple. He caught the eye of the man standing beside his chair at the far end of the table. Green met gold as Ezran sent a silent inquiry to Corvus. ‘Have they been like this all morning’, it seemed to say. Corvus, ever insightful, nodded slightly. His sigh became external as Ezran sat down, his attention momentarily distracted by a trio of jelly tarts before he cleared his throat and looked at his brother. Callum met his gaze for a moment, the shame clearly writ over his features before he suddenly took an interest in the draperies.

_Alright. Teasing was one thing. But nothing gets in the way of Ezran’s breakfast._

“Lovely weather we’re having.” Was his next attempt at conversation, met this time by a chorus of grunts and the barely audible sound of Corvus’ snicker. Clearly, it was going to be a long and painful meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotta say, the support from all of you has been unreal. I'm hoping that I lived up to the expectation with this second chapter. I've got a couple of these in reserve, so you should expect fairly regular updates from here on out. If anything changes, I'll let you know. Thanks again to Jelly for giving me the initial confidence, and thanks to the rest of you for your encouraging words and praise. It means the world to me.


	3. All is Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum and Rayla reflect on the events of last night and try to establish a new constant, but when that constant involves sparring in front of an audience, things may get a bit heated.

The pale glow of early morning light cast the wall into stark relief, every angle sharpened and defined as if carefully drawn by an aggressively neat artist. Or perhaps that was just Callum’s imagination at work, a desperate attempt to devote thought to anything other than the previous night’s events. He’d hoped that dawn would take the night’s painful memories with it, but that hope was quickly dashed when he’d seen the look on Rayla’s face. Or rather, the edge of that look, as she’d thus far refused to look him in the eye. Callum thought he had seen her look his way from time to time, especially once Ezran had launched into a long-winded itinerary of events he had planned for their winter, but he was never fast enough to catch her in the act.

 

He’d barely caught a third of what Ezran had said. Something about snowmen he was certain, and the word “fort” had come up no less than a dozen times, but Callum’s attention was elsewhere. Rayla had finally spoken up towards the end, apparently having paid more attention than he was, and the two of them quickly fell back into a rapport.

 

Callum smiled at the thought. He’d always felt the pressure of being Ezran’s only sibling when the two of them were growing up. Had to constantly reflect on his actions and determine if he was being a good role model for the impressionable young prince. It was nice then, that someone else could pick up the slack. Rayla and Ezran had always had this easy relationship, but whether that was a product of Ezran’s open and loving nature, Rayla’s surprisingly strong maternal instinct, or a combination of the two was anyone’s guess.

 

There’d been a dinner, probably a year back, where Rayla had even accidentally introduced Ezran as her little brother to a band of visiting elven merchants. Embarrassed at first, she’d quickly recovered, and one of the merchants had later written to them saying that the bond between the king of Katolis and his Moonshadow friend had been a deciding factor in their decision to run their caravans through the kingdom.

 

Even still, happy as he was that the two of them were getting along like they always had, Callum was worried that something had changed between Rayla and him. The more he turned the night’s events over in his head, the more confused he became. Rayla had teased him plenty of times before; their banter was practically the foundation of their relationship! But last night hadn’t felt light-hearted. It was almost… heated. She’d certainly never gotten physical before, but when she did, he’d responded.

 

His cheeks burned at the thought of it. _Had he really squeaked like that when she pushed him against the desk? Had he really been about to push back?_

 

Callum was divorced from his thoughts when he heard a voice calling his name.

 

“Callum? You still with us?” Ezran. His eyes insistent but worried.

 

“Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about a lot of stuff. You know, ambassadorial things.”

 

“Ambassadorial things?” Ezran replied, a sarcastic tinge to his voice that sounded more like Rayla than anything else.

 

_Since when was Ez sarcastic?_

 

“It’s a word!”

 

“I never doubted it was a word. Just seemed odd that you were thinking about diplomacy when we were just talking about sword fighting…” Ezran trailed off, a spark of understanding in his eye. “But you weren’t involved in that conversation either, were you?”

 

“Right, the sword fighting thing. Uhm, what sword fighting thing exactly?”

 

“The skill we’ve been developin’ for a year and a half. Y’know, when you opened your big mouth and decided to blab to Ez about how you’d become a swordsman?” The surprise of Rayla finally talking to him wasn’t enough to halt his embarrassment at being called out for a… less than accurate assessment of his talents. He wasn’t awful - no one could be bad at something if Rayla was teaching them – but he hadn’t mastered swordsmanship like he had magic.

 

Callum finally caught Rayla’s gaze. But a brief moment of contact, but it spoke volumes. She seemed… eager? Was that her game then? Tease and confuse him the night before, not talk to him all morning, and then embarrass him on the dueling ground?

 

Callum’s grin widened to match her own.  _Alright then. Challenge accepted._

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m some master swordsman or anything, but I have given a few undesirables a run for their money on the road.” Rayla’s eyes rolled so hard they might as well have gone back into her skull. Good, at least she wasn’t avoiding him anymore. Snark he could deal with. It was most of what he had dealt with, come to think of it.

 

“More like you kept the old and sick ones distracted while I took care of literally everythin’ else that came our way.”

 

“Hey, I only had to use a sword because you refused to let me take the easier route.”

 

“Magic isn’t meant to be used as some sort of crutch Callum. It’s a delicate tool, meant for use only in emergencies, and never to harm someone unless you absolutely have to.”

 

“Oh, and a sword is so much safer?”

 

“If used properly, yes. And I seem to recall Tikaal enchanting your blade precisely to the specifications you asked for. One draw of that thing across someone’s skin when its dulled and they’re shocked like you wouldn’t believe. I’d say that’s plenty of magic for someone who ought not to be able to call the storm in the first place. Especially someone who calls it when they get spooked in their own chambers.”

 

_Oh, so they were talking about last night then. So be it._

 

“Well you know, I have to do everything within my power to protect my honor from any ill-intentioned ruffians who might try to take it.”

 

_There it was, a twinge across her face. A reddening of her cheeks. Point one to Callum._

 

“Oh Callum,” replied Rayla, a positively diabolic grin on her face, “with an honor so minimal as yours, it’s a miracle anyone’s trying to take it. You might as well thank them for their service.”

 

Now it was Callum’s turn to blush. Ezran simply snapped his attention back and forth, caught between warring desires to see his brother and his closest friend get along and his desperate wish to be anywhere other than between them while they talked about… that.

 

“Just grab your blades and shut up.” They’d arrived at Rayla’s chambers. Much to her disappointment, the Crownguard did not take kindly to anyone carrying weapons around the castle. Keeping her blades under lock and key in her rooms was one of the few concessions she’d been willing to make, and even then, it had taken no small amount of convincing on Callum and Ezran’s parts to ensure she stayed honest.

 

“Callum?” Ezran asked questioningly the moment Rayla had closed the door.

 

“Yeah Ez?”

 

“Is Rayla going to kick your butt?”

 

Callum exhaled, using the moment it gave him to try and formulate some cool one-liner. Failing in that as well, he pressed his hand to his face, drawing it down and glancing between his fingers at his brother. Adjusting his gaze ever so slightly to meet his eyes. Taking stock of the faux-serious expression on his face.

 

“Yeah, she’s going to kick my butt.”

 

“Damn right I am.” Interjected Rayla, emerging from her chambers armed with her well-worn blades and a ferocious, almost vicious grin across her features. Ezran's quickly widened to match hers, a glint in his eyes that Callum wasn't entirely sure he appreciated.

 

Callum gulped. He had a feeling he was going to regret egging her on.

 

\---

 

By the time they made their way to the courtyard, the three of them had been joined by Corvus, who’d previously excused himself to prepare the dueling ground for them. Still mystified by the odd quirks of humans, Rayla had dismissed it. What could possibly need to be done to clear out a space for the two of them to spar? Just pick an open spot. It was a castle, there was plenty of unused space.

 

As it turned out, the dueling and drilling ground were one in the same, and by clearing it for one event the other had to be postponed. And thus, Rayla found herself walking into a courtyard flanked by half of the castle’s guard. She’d known there would be an audience – there were always so many people just milling around – but she’d hardly expected a few shy of forty soldiers watching their match.

 

At least it provided a welcome distraction from Callum, whose very presence had set her on edge from the moment they’d first caught each other’s gaze at breakfast. The tension had been palpable, so much so that even Ezran had picked up on it. And if she was being honest with herself, as much as she loved him, Ezran could be downright oblivious at times. An endearing trait he shared with his brother. Yet, he’d seemed different since they’d returned. It had only been a few months since the last time their path had brought them to the castle, but he seemed more mature each time they met. It was a bittersweet thought. Their little boy was slowly but surely becoming a king.

 

_Wait. “Their” little boy?_

 

Rayla sighed, it seemed that nothing was going to be very effective at staving off her intrusive thoughts. Well, nothing save for perhaps knocking a certain prince flat on his arse. That always brought a smile to her face. A clarity to her thoughts. Callum might’ve had her beat for words and apparently, if last night’s events were any indication, teasing, but she could still have him on the ground in a few seconds flat.

 

_Maybe she’d even take advantage of the opportunity… No Rayla. Bad Rayla. Focus on beating up your best friend first. Sorting through your feelings for him is a problem for later._

 

“Your sword, Prince Callum.” Came the voice of a mousy haired squire, her cheeks tinged a furious red as she handed the eponymous noble a curiously shaped sword.

 

“Thank you, Kelai. I trust you’ve seen to it that the blade was properly polished and maintained.” Came his own voice, a curious an entirely un-Callum like edge of arrogance to his tone.

 

“N-no my prince, I’d simply handed it over to the smith as you asked. If a-anything is out of order I could see to it immediately. No need to trouble y-yourself with an inferior blade. My apologies!” Came her rambling response, her face quickly shifting to a hue more resembling an apple than any Rayla had seen on a human before.

 

“Oh no, no. It’s fine! I was just joking. It’s really fine.”

 

_Oh Callum, don’t you get that you can’t just tease people like you tease me?_

 

Rayla smirked, then realized that her hand was hovering over the hilt of one of her knives. Why was she?... Oh. Her gaze fell on his hands. One was on the hilt of his sword, the other on the squire’s as he attempted to calm her down. Rayla silently began to count down from five. Daring him to prolong the contact any longer.

 

And then she caught herself. What was she thinking? Was she… jealous? Over what, the fact that he was touching her? Was that really all it took now? Still, if he didn’t move his hand in a little under a second, there might be a diplomatic incident on their hands. Thankfully, one of the guards stepped forward, profusely apologizing, and led the young squire away. Leaving Callum, apparently stupefied, standing in the archway looking more than a little mortified at what he’d just caused.

 

_Alright, this was getting ridiculous._

 

“You actually goin’ to spar, or are you just going to stand there ya hopeless prince?”

 

Callum seemed to snap out of it. His eyes meeting hers with a stare whose intensity sent a shiver up her spine. He hadn't ever looked at her like _that_. Maybe with a mischievous smirk. Maybe even with an aggravated slant to his eyes. But never with whatever this was. There was heat in his gaze. And something else, something she couldn’t even begin to unpack.

 

But then that moment passed too. Callum walked into the courtyard, drawing his sword from its sheath with a flourish that even Rayla had to admit looked pretty damned cool. She’d never admit it, of course, but he had become a pretty skilled swordsman. All thanks to her determined teaching of course. He’d been utterly hopeless when they'd started. That’s where the jab had come from after all. It was a part of the ritual. One of many that had emerged from their friendship.

 

What she couldn’t give herself credit for was the way he confidently strode forward, his cloak billowing out behind him in a sudden gust of wind. The sunlight crested his face, throwing half of it into darkness, and for a moment Rayla saw him the way everyone else must have. Prince Callum of Katolis. First human master of the Sky Arcanum in a millennium, a personal confidante of the Dragon Prince, and savior of Katolis. It was a sobering thought. What was she compared to that?

 

_To hell with that. She was Rayla, Moonshadow assassin. Chosen by the finest amongst her people for her skill at arms. For her ability to move unseen. And if she hadn’t been there every step of the way, there wouldn’t have been an “Archmage Callum of Katolis” to begin with._

 

Armed with her own determination, Rayla saw through the visage of the dashing young archmage to the same boy who’d once cried when he’d seen her shoot a rabbit that had been caught in a trap. Of course, even that reminded her of his compassion. Of his desire to minimize suffering in the world.

 

Rayla inhaled deeply, blowing the air out from between her lips and allowing them to settle into a lazy grin. This was Callum she was looking at, _her Callum_ ¸ and she was about to wipe the floor with him in front of half his guard, archmage or no archmage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, now that we've gotten thanks out of the way over the last two chapters, let's get into the bones of what's to come. I'm a college student, so I may just drop off the face of the earth from time to time, but I promise I'll always come back! I've gone off the deep end a bit, and while it's nowhere close to being completely written out, I do have an extremely rough outline of the way I want to take this fic. And I mean really rough. Essentially, I'm organizing it into three arcs to reflect the three months of winter. The story should develop at a pretty consistent pace from here on out, so expect more dialogue and connections now that we've gotten a bit of exposition and frame-working out of the way. Anyways, hope you enjoyed it. Expect another chapter soon.


	4. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum achieves an unexpected feat and promptly organizes his own funeral.

Taking a moment to regard his opponent, Callum was more than a little disconcerted to see her face spread into a grin. Disconcertion quickly turned to aggravation, then to resolve. He could feel the confidence rolling off of her in waves. Could see the arrogant glint in her eye. He’d planned to give her the best he could, but now he was definitely going to wipe that look off of her face.

 

Whispering a few words under his breath, Callum felt the slight buzzing sensation traveling through his hand as he dulled the edge of his blade. It grew fuzzy and indistinct, and he knew that the moment it made contact it would send a burst of energy directly into the point of impact.

 

He’d made it a point to ensure that he always had a non-lethal option when it came to combat. Of course, the strength of that burst of energy was entirely up to him, so there was a lot of ambiguity when it came to the phrase “non-lethal”. Callum set it to an intensity that had just enough kick to stun his opponent, then thought better of it. He wanted to win, but he didn’t want Rayla to kill him after.

 

“I’m still waitin’ Callum” Came Rayla’s tired drawl from across the courtyard.

 

Callum ignored the jab, stepping to a point not fifteen feet away from her, and raised his blade to the ready position, his sheath held protectively in his left hand. With a smirk of his own plastered across his face, he nodded.

 

Rayla closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, and Callum was immediately pushed back. Catching the edge of one blade on the guard of his own, he quickly pivoted about his opponent, gaining enough ground to cause her second blade to go wide of its intended target. She turned, quick as an adder, and hammered into his guard with both of her blades. Callum grunted under the effort, his sheath bolstered under his blade to oppose the sheer power of it. Were he to take a few more blows like that, Callum would be beaten down by sheer attrition. He needed a plan, so he did what he did best; he took a moment to think.

 

Rayla was fighting sloppy. It happened from time to time when she was mad at him, but he’d never seen her throw caution to the wind like this. Well, sloppy for her. To anyone else it would have seemed all part of some elaborate dance, a whirling gale of steel that guided each blow with pinpoint precision. To Callum, who’d sparred against her so many times he dreamed about it, it was as if she was trying to leave an opening for him.

 

_Maybe she was…_

 

Only one way to find out. Drawing in a breath, he let it go slowly, letting it take all excess thought with it. Almost immediately, the world seemed somewhat dimmer. The sunlight muted. The voices of the guards, cheering and carrying on, carried away by a breeze. Rayla’s strikes seemed to grow slower, broadcasting themselves fractions of a second before the strike, but that would be enough. It wasn’t magic, not in the traditional sense, but he could hardly be blamed for using every skill at his disposal against such an opponent.

Callum waited for his moment, parrying Rayla’s blows almost subconsciously, waiting for the precise moment to make his move. Still, he could feel his arm struggling to take so many hits, to move so quickly to intercept each strike, and he knew that it had to be in the next few moments. Otherwise he’d lose, like he had so many times before, and for some reason that thought alone seemed to sharpen his focus even further.

 

_No, he wasn’t losing. This time he would finally win. There, under her right arm._

 

Suddenly darting forward in a move that startled even Rayla with its speed, he drove his blade directly at the space between her ribs Its blurred edge nearly brushing against them before she caught it between the guards of her own blades. Then Callum set his plan into motion. First step; dropping his sword.

 

Pivoting around her again, taking a split second to appreciate the stunned look on her face, Callum took advantage of the weight of his weapon pulling her guard down to snatch one of her blades from her hand. She turned to react, but then he brought his sheath up, catching the other blade on its hardened exterior. Still turning, Callum flicked the unfamiliar blade out to his side like he’d seen Rayla do so many times before, setting it into a shape not unlike a sickle. He brought the inner edge up, hovering the razor sharp blade just millimeters away from her throat.

There was a moment, not of silence, but of held breath, as everyone in the courtyard but Callum attempted to catch up with what they had just witnessed. He leaned forward, suddenly painfully aware of how close the two of them were.

 

“I’m hardly an expert, but it seems like you’ve lost _solas na gealaich_ ”

 

\---

 

Rayla felt the heat of Callum’s breath cross the side of her face, her own catching in her throat as she made out the words he whispered, and then jerked away as he extricated himself from the grapple. He turned his back on her immediately, apparently no longer considering her a threat as he turned and made an exaggerated bow in Ezran’s direction. He took the opportunity to retrieve his sword, making a show of offering it up to the young king as well.

 

Rayla did everything in her power to try and conceal the wildfire rushing across her face, and the fact that Callum was still holding one of her knives hardly did anything to help.

 

_Since when did Callum speak moon elvish?_

 

He turned to face her then, pride evident on his features, but his eyes were soft. He walked towards her, turning her blade over in his hand and holding it out to her.

 

“I’ll admit, I figured out how to switch it a while ago, but I’ve no clue how to get it to close.” He said, the barest edge of humor in his voice.

Rayla could just barely make out the sounds of the guards cheering and laughing at their prince’s victory over the sound of the blood rushing to her face. Callum saw the blush and, _damn him_ , simply smiled that plain smile at her. Smiled like he hadn’t just bested her for the first time in the three years they’d known each other. Like he hadn’t disarmed her with a casual grace that belied everything she’d expected from him and held her own blade to her throat.

_Her blade. He knew what that meant._

 

She snatched the knife from his hand, flicking the edge back into the hilt with a subconscious motion of her wrist.

 

“Yeah, still too fast. Didn’t quite catch it.” He reiterated, a chuckle building in his throat.

 

“You! You thrice-damned fool. What, amongst all that is sacred, was that?”

 

Callum brought a hand to his chest, a false obliviousness set into his features with such rapidity that Rayla almost thought that he was serious. Almost.

 

“Why, I’ve no idea what you mean Rayla. I was simply trying to show the guards how effective a teacher you’ve been. Only the gods know how many times they watched my royal posterior get handed to me in this very courtyard.”

 

That earned a chuckle from the aforementioned assembly of guards, whose presence Rayla suddenly recalled. The revelation brought another blush to her cheeks, and she wished more than anything to simply drop dead on the spot. He’d done _that_ , all of _that_ , in front of an audience? Her only solace was that none of her own people were in attendance. She might’ve actually dropped dead if that had been the case.

 

Rayla drew herself up to her full height, tucking her blades into the pair of loops on the back of her belt, and closed the distance between the two of them. To her enormous satisfaction, Callum backed up half a step.

 

_Not so confident after all huh?_

 

It was Rayla’s turn to lean in, ever so slightly. In a tone just low enough for Callum and Callum alone to hear, she warned him.

 

“Mark my words, Callum. I’m goin’ to get you for this, and it’s goin’ to be bad.”

 

\---

 

She delivered the line with all the solemnity and finality of a priest giving the dead their last rites, and Callum couldn’t hold the involuntary shiver that traveled up his spine. It was her turn to grin, a long smile that never quite reached her eyes, and she stalked from the courtyard, taking a moment only to pay her respects to Ezran. He watched her walk away, his eyes most definitely fixed on the back of her head and nothing else. Not even for a moment. When had it gotten so hot in the courtyard?

 

Callum was broken from his thoughts by a sergeant’s shouted: “Back to work you sods, show’s over.” He turned to Ezran, who was running towards him accompanied by Corvus who, for the first time in Callum’s memory, was openly smiling.

 

“That was amazing Callum! I can’t believe Rayla managed to turn you into a swordsman!”

 

“Hey!” Callum protested. “I’m pretty sure I had a role to play in my the development of my swordsmanship.”

 

“No, I’m pretty sure it was all Rayla. You were pretty hopeless before.”

 

_Honestly, Ezran didn’t spend that much time with Rayla, did he?_

 

“It was very impressive my prince. I’ve never known the Lady Rayla to be bested.” Contributed Corvus, his eyes alight with the inspiration that all warriors derive from seeing an unexpected turn of events on the dueling ground.

 

“Thank you Corvus, it’s nice to hear that some people know how to respect a man for his own talents.”

 

“Of course, you would be remiss to not acknowledge the influence her tutelage had on those skills.”

 

_Damn. Maybe Ez was getting it from Corvus as well._

 

“You two are the worst. Legitimately the worst.”

 

The three of them glanced at each other for a moment, then suddenly broke into laughter. Callum felt his composure break as he reflected on what he’d just accomplished. He’d finally beaten Rayla! He could feel the exhilaration rushing through him, leaving his body as belly-shaking laughter. Then he blanched, the laughter dying in his throat.

 

He remembered the threat. Recalled that he’d disarmed Rayla and used her own blade against her. And then he’d… Oh no. Had he? He had. This was not going to end well for him.

 

\---

 

Rayla made it down three hallways before she ducked into a side chamber – so many rooms, honestly – and collapsed against the wall. Callum had beaten her. Had actually bested her in single combat. She should feel happy for him, should feel angry that she lost, should feel a whole lot of things other than what she was feeling right now. But she couldn’t. Not when she remembered the way he’d leaned into her. The way he’d held _her_ blade to _her_ throat. And what he’d said? Rayla felt as if she was staring directly into the sun at the mere thought of it.

 

Moonshadow elves didn’t let other people use their weapons, period. She’d explained as much to him not long after they’d first met. Their weapons were a part of them, forged with a small sample of their blood in the steel. It was a binding ritual, not magical in nature, but sacred nonetheless. The only people who shared weapons were those who’d already shared everything else. Elves who’d bound themselves in the ancient sense. The mere thought of it drove Rayla up the wall. And then he’d had the audacity to say… that.

 

_Who’d taught Callum moon elvish? Hell, he’d probably taught himself, knowing him._

 

Still, Rayla couldn’t stifle the awful grin that spread across her face at the thought of it. She pressed a hand to forehead, attempting to drive it from her face, but it was impossible at this point. Sorting through her feelings wasn’t going to be necessary. It was clear where they laid. And all it had taken was Callum being himself. Because in that moment, his body pressed to hers, the two of them so close they might as well have been one, he’d taken her blade. And she’d let him. She certainly could’ve resisted more, but she was too distracted by his proximity. Then, holding it to her neck, bringing his mouth to her ear like she’d done to him the night before, he’d whispered something she’d remember for the rest of her days. He’d teased her, certainly, but he’d also spoken to her in her language.

 

And he’d called her _Moonlight._


	5. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezran and Corvus sit through one of the many kingly meetings that each day seems to hold. Callum and Rayla remember a night that both hoped to forget.

The wind howled at the outer walls of the castle, alike to a wolf scratching at the eave of a rabbit’s burrow, desperate to find some bit of exposed flesh to tear away with its wintry jaws. Snow was just beginning to fall from the clouds, but any farmer worth their salt knew it’d be a blizzard before eve’s end. Wanting for sunlight, the servants had lit the many sconces and torches throughout the castle’s halls, hoping to stave off the darkness that crept from its many crooks and eaves.

 

Amidst it all, in a room that was far too hot and cramped, sat a small cadre of men and women – the advising council of the kingdom of Katolis – and the young man who had, by unfortunate circumstance, been thrust into the kinghood. One of the council, an older woman clad in the red and white robes of a record-keeper stood at her seat, delivering but one line of many in a monologue that had poured endlessly forth for more than an hour.

 

“Of course, it shall also fall to you to ensure that the delegates from Duren are accepted with the respect due to their station. The Duke of Belgamot for example…”

 

Ezran felt as if his ears were being filled with wax, his head with sawdust, and his eyes with the driest sands of the Acoman desert. This was the longest he’d ever heard Opheli speak, and that was saying something. Today’s topic, as it had been yesterday’s and the day’s before, was the annual Katolin Winter Ball. An event that had been started by his late father in honor of the bond that had been forged between the kingdoms of Duren and Katolis during the Winter of Hardship.

 

In his memories, the Ball had been a time of celebration and merriness; a chance to leave the dreariness of winter behind for the warmth of company and the finest assortment of pastries the kingdom’s bakers could boast. Opheli seemed intent on making it a time of numbers and ledger-keeping. He wanted to eat the pastries, not haggle with the baker for the price.

 

He didn’t blame her, really, she just had the unfortunate task of ensuring that he “was educated in the intricacies of the many traditions that went along with kingship.” Or at least, that was the official spiel. Ezran was more convinced that it was an elaborate plot to oust him from the throne through sheer boredom.

 

Seeking any sort of relief, Ezran looked about the table but found that the other members of the council collectively boasted a glazed expression that very much resembled his own. Finally, his eyes caught on Corvus, ever present in his position in the corner of the room. Not for the first time, Ezran marveled at the man’s ability to remain perfectly still for such an extended period of time. His eyes were locked on Opheli, his entire posture one of rigid attention.

 

Pulling on that same supernatural perception he always seemed to have, Corvus’ eyes locked onto Ezran’s, the very intensity of his stare taking him aback. ‘Please.’ Came Ezran’s silent plea. ‘Do something.' The corners of the man’s mouth turned up in what might have, technically, been a smile. He turned back to Opheli, waited for a moment to arise between her points, and gently cleared his throat.

 

“Lady Opheli, forgive me for my interruption, but I feel as if the entire council might benefit from an adjournment to their respective chambers. This storm will only grow worse, and I doubt that we’ll get much done with that collective worry on our minds.”

 

His voice was calm yet insistent, equal parts command and question. He’d broached the subject but left it entirely up to her whether she took what seemed to be a perfectly reasonable course of action. Again, not for the first time, Ezran marveled at the man he’d taken on as his bodyguard and advisor.

 

“Yes, I believe you may be right.” Replied Opheli, gathering her scrolls into her arms and passing them off to one of her assistants, a young man who efficiently wrapped them with a strand of ribbon and placed them in a leather satchel at his side. “Shall we meet again, perhaps after lunch tomorrow, to go over the final plans?”

 

Ezran wanted to scream, but held it in, and felt enormously proud of himself for doing so. He’d hoped for a resolution, but a stay of execution would have to do. He turned to Corvus, nodding in gratitude, and then back to Opheli, doing his best to force the same tone into his voice as he had before.

 

“Yes, I think that would be wise. Thank you Opheli, for taking the time to ensure that everyone is up to the task of greeting our many guests with the varied honors they deserve.”

It seemed to work, judging from the way she preened at her robes, her expression one of utter self-confidence.

 

“But of course, my king. But of course.”

 

She turned and gave her respects to the remaining members of the council. What always appeared to Ezran to be an endless and seemingly pointless series of formalities. In time, he’d come to realize the subtle politics that were playing out before him, but for now, he simply wished to be anywhere other than here. He took the opportunity to turn back to Corvus, again nodding his gratitude, and received one of the man’s rare true smiles in response.

 

After the advisors had made their way from the room, Ezran followed, gesturing for Corvus to follow him. He turned to the man, regarding him for a moment, before asking his question.

 

“Your thoughts Corvus?”

 

“If your advisors were twice as good with a sword as they are at pretending to pay attention, they’d have been dead the moment they set foot in the Breach. Not that it mattered much to the Lady Record-Keeper. I’m fairly certain that she could give a speech to a wall and still pull satisfaction from the sound of her own voice.”

 

The sheer honesty of the assessment, as well as his signature deadpan delivery, served to have Ezran in stitches the moment he’d finished. The sound of his laughter caught the attention of two nearby guardsmen, who looked over from their positions at either side of the door leading to the outer wall to determine the cause, only to find the calm gaze of Amaya’s Crow meeting their own. They quickly went back to minding their own business, and if their backs were a little straighter as a result, their eyes more alert, well that was simply an added bonus.

 

Wiping a tear from his eye, Ezran finally caught his breath enough to respond.

 

“Brutally honest as always I see.”

 

“That is why you keep me around. Well, that and the ‘saving your life more times than you can count’ bit.”

 

“Yes, I suppose that those are two of the key reasons.”

 

“Are there others my king?” Corvus inquired, seemingly legitimately curious.

 

“Only that I’ve only ever known one person to convince Opheli to stop talking and call it a day, and that was my father.” Ezran replied with a sad smile.

 

“Then I am honored to be compared to such a great man. I’d only met him a few times, but from those few experiences, I can tell that you’re becoming very much like him my king.”

 

Ezran felt another tear coming to his eye, but this one had nothing to do with laughter. He quickly wiped it away, hoping Corvus hadn’t seen it, then responded.

 

“Thank you, Corvus. That means a great deal, coming from you. And, though I know it's useless to try, you know you don’t have to refer to me as ‘my king’ when it’s just the two of us.”

 

“And again, I must remind you that I call you by your title not out of defiance, but out of respect.”

“I know, I know. Still, it’s not necessary.”

 

“I respectfully disagree… king Ezran.”

 

Ezran looked at him incredulously for a moment, before looking down and shaking his head, a tired smile crossing his face.

 

“Come Corvus, I think it’s high time we made a stop by the kitchens. I’m sure we’ll find Sir Bait already waiting for us.”

 

Ezran hurried ahead, his thoughts already preoccupied by the thought of a warm jelly tart to take his mind off of preparations. Corvus watched him for a moment. Beheld the young king he’d accompanied for three years now. He’d grown up considerably since then. Physically, for certain. He was only a few inches shorter than his brother now, much to the latter’s chagrin. But perhaps the greatest growth had come about mentally. He was maturing quickly and, not for the first time, Corvus marveled at the boy’s – no, the young man’s – ability to take on the duties of kingship without so much as a complaint.

 

He hurried forward as well, eager to catch up with his charge and share a few choice thoughts over a few jelly tarts himself. Or at the very least, to keep him from eating too many before bed. He was still Ezran after all.

\---

Callum leaned back against the back of the couch he’d moved to face the hearth in his chambers. It was a heavy thing of thick brocade and hardwood, but nothing that a little creatively applied air pressure couldn’t move. He set the journal he’d been reading off to the side; a thick collection of notes and anecdotes he’d accumulated over half a dozen trips into Xadia the past three years. Almost immediately after he’d first unlocked the Sky Arcanum, he’d begun to take notes on all things magical in the hopes of better understanding his gift. That journal, along with two others on his desk, were the summation of those years of research.

 

He’d felt the urge to look through them again after his narrowly achieved victory over Rayla three days previous. The curious slowing he’d experienced in the middle of their match was hardly new – it had served him well in a number of tight situations over the years – but he’d never experienced it so sharply as he did then. He’d been searching his notes for some answer, some connection he hadn’t yet drawn, but had yet to find anything.

 

He’d also made the fateful decision to do so by candlelight, despite the presence of a marvelous sunstone contraption on his desk that would have provided him with all the natural light he could have wanted to read by. Still, there had been something appealing about the idea of stretching out on the couch before the fire in his robes, casually leaning against one armrest while he pored through his notes by fire and candlelight.

 

All he had to show for it was a crook in his back, strained eyes, and a splitting headache. Even his tea, separated from the mild heat of his sunstone lamp, had grown cold in the time he’d been studying. So that when he went for a drink, he got a mouthful of a concoction he had promptly spat out into the fire. All in all, it was one of many of his ideas that seemed great in concept but had panned out horribly in practice.

 

His descent into self-pity was interrupted by a knock at his door. One he recognized. Immediately, his throat went dry, his eyes flicking to the nearest exit. Could he get out through the window? It was quite the fall, but he’d cushioned worse. Maybe he could even grab on to one of the battlements on his way down…

 

_And then what? Wander through the snow until you froze to death? No, better to confront the possibility of death than face it alone in the cold._

 

Swallowing back his trepidation, and perhaps keeping one arm behind his back to draw a rune if need be, Callum stepped towards the door, took a breath, and opened it.

 

He may as well have just dropped out of the window in favor of what he saw next.

 

Rayla was standing there, face slightly flushed from the cold, clad in an outfit that was decidedly unlike her; an ankle length robe of thick green fabric, lightly traced with white on the edges. It was something he’d seen a few of commoners wearing during his trips into town. With a start, he realized it wasn’t a robe at all, but a dress, albeit a homely one.

 

_Rayla was wearing a dress._

 

The very thought caused discord in Callum’s mind. He’d expected her to be standing there in her usual practical garb, or maybe even her armor, blades drawn and ready to make him regret his actions. What he wasn’t expecting was her to be standing there, in a dress of all things, and looking so thoroughly _feminine_ that he wasn’t sure how to interpret it.

 

_She looks cute you overthinking twit._

 

“Are you just goin’ to stand there staring at me, or are you goin’ to invite me in?”

 

Callum looked up at her – _from where exactly, he was too embarrassed to say –_ and promptly attempted to remove his foot from his mouth.

 

“Yeah, of course. Uh, come on in.” Came his response, forcefully cheery. To further compound his embarrassment, he realized the guard at the end of the hall was looking their way, and he quickly pulled Rayla into the room, a protesting “Callum!” making it so much more conspicuous than if he had simply allowed her to walk in.

 

He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his arm as Rayla twisted it up and behind his back, pressing him up against the wall to the left of the door.

 

“What the hell was that?” Seethed Rayla, anger and embarrassment clearly present in her voice at being pulled so unceremoniously into his room in sight of one of the guards.

 

“You look nice tonight.” Came Callum’s muffled response, his face pressed up against the wall.

Rayla turned away from him at that, loosening her pressure on his arm enough for him to pull free, and the two of them managed to hide their blushing faces from each other by merit of not wanting to meet each other’s eyes at all.

 

When at last Callum looked back at her, she’d already looked to him, an almost shy smile on her face.

 

“One of the women who came by to collect the linens left it for me. Said it wouldn’t do to have one of the king’s guests to be cold because she hadn’t brought warmer clothing. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I had my coat, but this is much more convenient anyway, if a bit restrictive.”

 

_Was she looking to him for approval? Because she certainly had it._

 

“Yeah, I can see what you mean. It looks nice Ray.”

 

She beamed at him, clearly pleased that he approved. Then there was a flash of excitement in her eyes, a particular look that Callum recognized meant she had remembered something important.

 

“Well here’s the best part!” She exclaimed, dipping her hands into two seams at either side of the dress. “It’s got pockets!”

 

Callum looked at her for half a moment before he split into laughter. She scowled at him immediately.

 

“What’s so funny?” She asked, a slight growl to her voice.

 

“Nothing, really. It’s just, here I was thinking you were coming here to kill me, and you show up in a dress of all things. And then, to top it all off, you tell me it has pockets as if it was the greatest thing since the invention of the wheel and, I don’t know, I guess it just struck me as funny.”

 

Her scowl turned to amusement, a dangerous glint coming into her eyes that stifled his laughter. She stalked towards him, somehow managing to look cute and deadly at the same time – a combination that Callum found as unfair as it was riveting.

 

“Thought I was coming here to kill ya huh? Whatever would I want to do that for?”

 

She was backing him up against the wall again, but this time Callum had enough time to try and formulate a plan. He cast his gaze around the room looking for something, anything, to save him from his predicament. He settled on the storm outside.

 

“Crazy weather we’re having huh? First blizzard of the season and all.”

 

Surprisingly, that somehow seemed to stop her in her tracks. What he hadn’t expected was the stricken expression that crossed her face, as if he’d reminded her of some horrible memory. Then he realized, kicking himself, that he probably had. His thoughts were pulled away suddenly to a night, not unlike this one, a little more than a year ago…

\---

It had been a few days since the last time they’d been able to rest in an inn, and the last two nights roughing it in the wilderness had at least been helped along by the heavy fur tents they’d managed to procure. Still, the day had been progressively losing its battle against the encroaching monoliths of gray that had claimed the sunlight. There was a storm coming, and they were sure to get caught in it.

 

Callum said as much to Rayla, who’d simply scoffed. Pulling her coat tightly around herself and grabbing the reins of her horse in one hand, she’d simply led the mare forward along the road they were following.

 

“Be that as it may Callum, we’re on one of your oh-so-superior human roads. I’m certain that if we follow it for more than ten minutes, we’ll come across one of your settlements. There’s practically one every stone’s throw apart.”

 

“I’m choosing not to dwell on the fact that you’re using the same ‘over-breeding’ and ‘urbanization’ jokes you always use in favor of the fact that we’ve been following this particular road for over two days and haven’t come across so much as a cabin. This is a logging trail too, and the loggers never come out in this kind of weather.”

 

“So, you’ve become an expert in forestry then?”

 

“No, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that anyone who plies their trade in the wilderness wouldn’t be caught dead in it when it’s on the cusp of a storm like this.”

 

Rayla was silent, uncharacteristically so, which Callum took as a sign that he’d scored a point.

 

“What do you suggest we do then, storm prince?” She asked, a far more characteristic snark dripping into her tone.

 

“I kind of like the sound of that actually.” Replied Callum, making another attempt at humor. He could tell from the way her shoulders were hunched, visible even under her thick coat, that Rayla was taking him far more seriously than she let on.

 

“We continue to ride on-“ He began.

 

“Brilliant plan, oh Archmage. Shall we do so with our eyes facing the horizon or the back of our horses’ heads?”

 

“One, that wasn’t even clever. Two, let me finish. We ride on ahead, keep an eye out for any shelter more substantial than a few rocks stacked together and, barring that, try to find the sturdiest rocks we can. There’s something… vicious about the wind right now, and I want to be behind the sturdiest barrier we can find before the storm breaks.”

 

“That’s… actually not the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” Rayla replied after a moment.

 

“Well, thank you. It’s nice to get some recognit-“ He began again.

 

“Seems that I’m finally rubbing off on you.” She interjected.

 

_Of course._

 

\---

“Y’know Callum, you keep spacing out like this and I’m going to start to think that you’ve zapped yourself with that sword of yours one too many times.”

 

Her voice, while just as laced with sarcasm as it had been in his memory, still held a nervous tone that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

 

“Sorry, I was just thinking about that night.” He replied, gauging her for her reaction, and feeling even worse when the expression reappeared.

 

“Yeah, me too.” She said, in a voice so small that it made him want to wrap his arms around her. Provide her some measure of comfort. So that’s exactly what he did. She leaned into the touch, wrapping her arms around his back and setting her chin on his shoulder.

 

“It’s been a while since you hugged me like this.” She finally said after they’d been standing there for a few moments.

 

Callum chose to bite back his retort, simply pressing his chin against her shoulder in turn. He could feel her trembling ever so slightly under his touch, and the fact that he’d done that to her hurt him more than he thought was possible.

 

“I’m sorry I brought it up. I know you don’t like talking about it.”

 

“I hate talking about it.” She whispered.

 

\---

There was no shelter forthcoming, but Rayla was hardly going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he was right, so they pressed on. Sure enough, as they went, the wind picked up, and her mare expressed her displeasure at being led out through this weather with the occasional tossing of her head, nostrils flaring and sending billowing clouds of steam back into her face.

 

“Rayla…” Came Callum’s voice, low and insistent.

 

“I know, alright!” She snapped.

 

“No, not the storm. I think we’re being followed. I’m catching movement on both sides of the road. Quick, dark shapes. Darting in and out of the brush. At least five of them.”

 

Rayla snapped again, though this time to attention. She was mad at herself for not recognizing the gravitas in her companion’s voice, but more than anything she was mad that he had seen them first. Especially now that her own attention was focused on them. Wolves, almost definitely. The mean kind that made their residence in the mountains. The wild kind that saw humans and their mounts as a viable food source if other prey was scarce.

 

It couldn’t have come at a worse time, as the right side of the road suddenly dipped down into a wooded ravine at least thirty feet deep. All it would take was a few rushing from the left. They could drive them off the road and down into the ravine with ease, where they’d be easy pickings for their packmates down below. Rayla realized that was by design.

 

“We can’t outrun them, not when we don’t know the terrain, and we don’t want the horses getting spooked enough to buck us, so we’re just going to have to carry on straight ahead. Look ahead of you, not at them, and just act like they aren’t even there.”

 

Rayla willed her voice to remain calm, but she couldn’t keep the slight tremor out of it. They were in real danger, and any solution she might have would be dashed against the rocks below before it could be put into action. They were screwed, and she wasn’t quite sure how they were going to get out of this one. She hated feeling helpless, but it wasn’t like there was another option.

 

_Why hadn’t Callum responded to her? She’d told him to look ahead, but what if something was wrong? What if one had already caught him, sunk its teeth into his throat before he could cry out? What if another had done the same to his horse?_

 

She had to look, had to be certain, but immediately regretted it when she did. There was Callum, astride his horse, the poor animal none the wiser as two timber wolves stalked out of the underbrush towards them. Callum, doing his best to remain quiet, had already drawn a rune in the air in front of him and was preparing to cast it when he caught her eye. The silence was broken then as the wolves pounced, both of them rushing forward, another pair emerging from the woods ahead of her, snapping her attention back to the fore.

 

There was a blinding light, a thunderous crash. Rayla caught the distinctive metallic scent of storm magic before all hell broke loose. Her horse had reared up on its hind legs, bringing a hoof down on one of the two wolves. Rayla, desperately holding on, brandished her sword out to the side, swinging it at the second wolf as it attempted to round her flank. The position gave her a perfect view as Callum’s horse, disoriented by the shock and awe of the magic he’d performed, staggered backward. Towards the cliff. Towards the rocks below.

 

“Callum!” Rayla cried out in warning. But it was too late. She could only watch as his horse’s back hooves clambered against the rocky shelf and, finding no purchase, began to stumble backward. He pulled at the reins, desperately attempting to pull it back to the road.

 

“Jump Callum!” She screamed. “Jump from the saddle!”

 

“I won’t just let him die!” He called back.

 

_Of course he wouldn’t. She’d warned him that his bleeding heart would get him in trouble one day, and it had, but there was no way she could be mad at him for following his nature._

 

The wolf that had been circling around her took her distraction as an opportunity to get under her guard, one of its wickedly sharp canines grazing her arm. Her horse bucked well and true at that point, and she was suddenly falling from the saddle and onto her side.

 

The wind was knocked from her in an instant, and it was all she could do to watch as the other two, emboldened by their packmate’s success, threw themselves forward at the flank of Callum’s horse. The animal let out a cry of pure terror as its equilibrium was finally thrown, and Rayla watched in mute horror as the both of them went rolling over the edge of the cliff and into the ravine below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Turned out I can't just walk away from this story, even for a day. Also, my idea of not writing is instead writing a chapter that's twice as long. As always, your support is everything to me, and even though I don't respond to every comment, I read each one. One thing I really wanted to nail in this chapter is an idea of what Ezran's and Corvus' relationship is like, as I find it a really intriguing concept. Also, I figured y'all needed something to help you cool down after the last chapter. I know I did. You may have also noticed that the chapter count has increased. That shouldn't happen too often, but some of these are going to be long, so... Get ready. Until next time!
> 
> P.S. I'm evil.


	6. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum and Rayla reflect on the snowstorm that nearly separated them a year ago. Rayla comes to a not-so-shocking realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Recommendations; Little Talks (Of Monsters and Men), I Won't Give Up (Jason Mraz), Say You Won't Let Go (James Arthur)

Callum led Rayla to the couch, wrapping a blanket around her before he took the kettle down from off of its hook and set water to boil. He could have called for a servant to fetch them tea, but he enjoyed the ritual of it. Measuring out the tea, setting it in the infuser. Waiting for the water to boil and then pouring it over. And finally, enjoying the finished product. From a cabinet over his desk, he grabbed two jars, mixing a dollop of honey from one into the first of two cups, spooning a measure of sugar into the other. He mixed both, using the opportunity to attempt to organize his thoughts, before turning back to Rayla.

 

She was curled up against the same armrest he’d been sitting against, her legs drawn up behind her in a decidedly un-Rayla like fashion. Usually, she took up every bit of space she could, but now she seemed intent on drawing herself in. With a start, he realized she was still trembling, and he had a sinking feeling it wasn’t from the cold. As he approached the couch, one of her hands reached out and his heart skipped for a moment as he reached his own hand out. She snatched the tea, immediately settling back into her spot, leaving him standing over her, cup in hand.

 

“Would you mind moving over a bit Ray, you’re in my spot.” He teased, surprised when she moved without complaint. His surprise only increased when, once he’d situated himself, she curled up next to him, her head resting on his chest. They’d grown rather good at keeping her horns from poking him, but he still felt the need to regard them cautiously as their points drew close to his face.

 

They sat there for a few minutes, quietly content in the shared companionship. He’d missed these moments, all too common on the road, where they’d simply sit in shared silence. It was contemplative, meditative almost, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until this moment.

 

The wind howled against the windows, snow driving against the panes, and he suddenly found himself drifting, reluctantly, back to that night.

 

\---

 

He was falling, tumbling down the cliffside with absolutely no control over himself. There was no time to think, to react, and as he brought his arms up instinctively one clipped against an outcrop of stone. The point of impact immediately blossomed with excruciating pain, driving all but the most base thoughts from his mind. His other arm curled up protectively over his head and neck, and he was treated to a cascade of impacts and scrapes that drove all remainder of sense from his mind and breath from his lungs.

 

He finally hit the ground with a dull thud, the snow mercifully cushioning his impact, but the damage had already been done. His body was a tapestry of bruises, a litany of pains that overwhelmed his senses, leaving him gasping for air at the bottom of the cliff. He could dimly make out the barest shadows of his senses. His horse, somewhere nearby, screaming in pain. The snarling and growling of wolves from somewhere up above. The prolonged moan of wind shipping through the barren limbs of the trees around him.

 

_Rayla was still up there._

 

Callum tried to pull himself to his feet, to call out for Rayla, but his voice caught in his throat. His left ankle, unable to support his weight, buckled under him. As he fell, his arm joined in the mutiny against his mind, and he stumbled face first into the snow. Fate spared him at that moment as a wolf he’d never even realized was there sailed through the space where his head had been a moment before, fangs bared and snarl rumbling in its throat. It met the rocks at the base of the cliff instead and, scrambling against the ice-crusted stone, slid over one of them and out of sight.

 

Callum desperately tried to tie his thoughts together through the pain. The wolf would be upon him again almost immediately, and he’d have only one shot at ending the threat it posed to his life. Pulling himself to a sitting position against a nearby rock, Callum carved at the air, deft practiced movements compiling threads of magical potential into a familiar rune. Pressure began to build up in his arm, behind his eyes, threatening to tear him apart from sheer intensity.

 

_There, to the left._

 

Callum released the pressure that had been building with a gasping “ _Aspiro!_ ”, the disparate winds of the storm suddenly condensing into a single point. The column of wind struck the wolf head on, throwing it against the cliff face with a sickening crack that turned Callum’s stomach. The last of his breath seemed to go with it, leaving him once again gasping for air. His vision flickered red before darkening at the edges, the words of his mentor echoing through his mind.

 

_“Your physical condition directly determines how much magic you can channel. Should you exceed your physical limits, your own magic will consume you as fuel.”_

 

He could feel the effects of the spell rippling through his body in a sudden seizing of muscles and tendons that pulled his wounded form into contortions of gut-wrenching pain. It was a thoroughly crippling experience, and one that he knew would be his last when he saw the second wolf stalking towards him. Its muzzle was already matted with blood, and Callum could dimly perceive that his horse had ceased screaming.

 

_At least it hadn’t had to suffer for long._

 

The irony of the situation struck him then, bringing a grim smile to his face. After everything he had faced, every challenge he had overcome, it would be a pack of hungry wolves that did him in. Reflexively, he tried to call upon the sky, but the trees and stones alike grounded him, draining away what little magic he had left. He closed his eyes and waited for death’s embrace to take him. And waited.

 

_Gods, this wolf was taking a long time. How rude._

 

Callum forced his eyes open, intending to chew the wolf out for its poor manners, and instead saw a familiar form crouching over him. Bleeding freely from her side, a white-knuckled hand clasping one of her knives, Rayla stared the wolf down. It snarled at her, a vicious sound that sounded more like tearing leather than anything an animal should be able to make.

 

Rayla snarled back, an animalistic reply that sent chills down his spine. _“_ _A ’feuchainn ris a’ phoit-dhubh fholuch! Bidh mi dìreach mar gun do rinn mi do charaidean ann an sin!_ ” Rayla screamed, desperation and anger dripping from every syllable.

 

_Language Ray…_

 

Callum’s vision was fading faster and faster now, but he could just make out the wolf pacing back and forth in front of them, looking for some weakness. Finding none, and perhaps keenly aware of the fact that none of its pack were coming to assist it, it tossed one last snarl in Rayla’s direction and then bolted off into the treeline.

 

“ _Agus fuirich thu!_ ” She snarled back, her attention immediately turning back to Callum. Rushing forward and falling to her knees, Rayla took in the sight of him. He must have looked awful because she just kept mumbling the same things over and over again.

 

“No no no no no! Callum, no!”

 

_Were those tears in her eyes. Rayla didn’t cry…_

 

“Keep your eyes open Callum! Keep your bleedin’ eyes open!”

 

_Language, honestly. Besides, he was just going to close them for a few moments. He was tired…_

 

“You can’t leave me like this Callum! Not like this, not now!”

 

_Just a few moments…_

 

\---

 

Rayla shuddered at the thought of that night, wrapping her hands tighter around her cup of tea. Trying to draw some warmth from it. He had almost died at the bottom of that ravine, would have if she hadn’t dragged him out of it. She still wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed it, wounded as she was. Granted, her wounds looked worse than they were, but she was still losing blood, and the storm was rapidly exerting its dominance over the landscape. She pressed him up onto the saddle of her horse, bringing her good arm under his and wrapping her hand in the reins. They walked forward like that for what seemed like hours. Her numb hand constantly seeking his neck, feeling for a pulse, using the faint beat to dictate her steps.

 

_So long as his heart still beat, so too would hers._

 

She’d pushed herself past any physical limit, past exhaustion, by the time salvation finally arrived in the form of a foresters’ camp. They’d taken them in without question and patched them both up the best they could. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to leave his bedside. He was hurt physically, certainly, but she was more worried by the fact he hadn’t woken up yet. She was reminded of another time he’d been injured, of the way she’d cried for him to breathe atop a cliff overlooking the Xadian border. Of the revelation she’d made in those few precious moments.

 

_It was a childish crush then, she had decided. One borne from shared hardship and more near-death experiences than anyone should have to experience. Her mission to Xadia, and to her people, had to come first, and so she had locked it away._

 

Eventually though, and against all odds, they’d managed to fight and claw their way through the wilds of Xadia, and had presented the fledgling prince to his mother. Afterward, Rayla was certain that they’d part ways. That he’d go back to his place at his brother’s side, while she’d be left behind to pick up the pieces of her life.

 

_But then he’d asked her to come with him, to help him bring about the peace they had dreamed and spoken of, and she’d never been so certain about a decision in her life._

 

So much had changed since then. They’d changed. Grown up. Had watched as a legend grew up around them and their exploits. Callum was the first human archmage in a millennium, possessing a mastery of air magic that put elves five times his age to shame. As he grew up, his confidence soared, and Rayla witnessed his legend unfurl firsthand. All the while, she did everything in her power to keep her barriers up. But he seemed hellbent on tearing them down with every easy smile and casual touch. Every heartfelt speech and sincere act of kindness. Rayla responded by putting up a facade of indifference and sarcasm, but he seemed to see right through that as well.

 

More and more, Rayla began to feel like her part in their partnership wasn’t nearly as important as his. She was his rock, he’d said, but what use was a rock when a delicate hand was needed to heal centuries of injustice? Her skills were vastly limited, while his seemed to grow in intensity with each passing day. The cold dread of her perceived uselessness drowned out all other perspectives until Rayla was certain that one day Callum would simply leave her behind in search of some new future without her.

 

But then the storm had nearly taken him from her, and without her, he would have certainly perished. The mere thought of him dying alone and out in the cold set her resolve. Callum wasn’t her better, and she wasn’t his. They had stayed together this long for a reason; they needed each other. She would have never been able to return Zym to his mother alone, and the thought of the Callum she had known attempting to do the same was laughable.

 

Callum was many things, but he wasn’t a fighter. There was this light inside of him, this radiance that made its way out with every gesture he made and word he spoke. Just listening to him filled Rayla with hope. Hope for a future where the peace they had always dreamed about could be achieved. Where her people and his could live, perhaps not in harmony, but as equals. She wanted to be there for that future, wanted to see the role that each of them would play in it, and she had no doubt that he would be at the center of it all. That others would see the same spark in him that she had, and place their trust and respect in him.

 

He was impetuous at times, more focused on the end result than the path taken to get there. His intellect was matched only by his obliviousness, sometimes dangerously bordering on naivete. More than anything, Callum was an idealist, and as endearing as that often was, it had gotten him into trouble more times than Rayla could count. And she’d been there with him every step of the way. She had no doubt that if she hadn’t, he likely wouldn’t be sitting here today. It was something she took pride in. That even if they couldn’t be together the way her heart longed for them to be, she could at least still be there for him. Looking out for him. Ensuring that his flaws weren’t his undoing while enforcing the many things that made him _her_ Callum.

 

And once she’d acknowledged all of that. Registered all of her feelings and their myriad implications, she came to the same conclusion she had before; she was hopelessly in love with him. It wasn’t a childish fancy, but a deep and abiding love for the man he had become. Mutual respect matched with an attraction to everything that made him Callum. And if the only way to ensure that he remained in her life was to just be friends, well then so be it.

 

\---

 

Rayla felt Callum’s arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest in a gesture that was all at once flustering and reassuring. Then he spoke, and her cheeks burned at the accusation in his voice.

 

“You know, I hardly think that staring at my knee with that kind of intensity will make it spontaneously combust, so you may want to re-think your revenge.” There was a chuckle in his voice, and something else. Something… intense. She turned up to meet his gaze and flushed upon realizing just how close they were. She could feel the warmth of his breath, smell the tea on it. And his eyes… There was a fire in them that had nothing to do with the one in the hearth.

 

“Oh no, I’m hardly goin’ to go with somethin’ so simple.” She said with a smirk, a spark of challenge in her eyes.

 

“To be honest, I’m fairly certain you don’t have a plan at all,” Callum replied, a smirk of his own spreading across his face. “You’re just going to string me out until I go crazy from the anticipation of it.”

 

“Gettin’ closer, clever prince. But I never said I was goin’ to punish you, just that I was goin’ to get you.” Her grin widened, the challenge in her eyes turning downright wicked. “And there are plenty of ways to go about doin’ that. All of them _very_ bad.”

 

“Whatever could you mean?” Callum responded, that same annoying mock ignorance morphing his features into the image of feigned innocence.

 

“I think I’ll just leave it your imagination.” She replied, drawing closer to him still. Their noses were practically touching at this point, their eyes locked directly on one another.

 

“Oh no, _solas na gealaich_ ,” He breathed, drawing in himself, his voice curling ever so slightly around the foreign tongue he spoke. Her tongue. “I think you’re all bark and no bite.”

 

_They were so close. Far too close. All she’d have to do is reach out, pull him to her. Make him realize exactly what hearing those words did to her. The knot they formed in her stomach, the pressure that made her long to crash her lips against his._

 

“Callum, I-I.” She began, her voice coming unbidden before she could hope to stop it, the pressure inside of her forcing it to the surface.

 

“Yeah Ray?” He whispered, a tone to his voice that she’d never heard him use before. A tone that drove her to the edge, begged her to close the distance between them. Her hand began to shakily climb to his face.

 

The wind slammed into the castle with all the force of a battering ram, rattling the windows violently in their frames and reducing the fire in the hearth to a sputtering mess. Both of them jumped instinctually, Callum wrapping his arms tightly around her while she buried her face in his chest. It was more to hide her face than anything, especially the furious blush that spread across it.

 

_Had she really been about to? Had he?_

 

“You alright Ray?” He asked quietly, concern evident in his tone.

 

“No.” She replied in a voice so small it hurt _her_ to hear it. “I hate it when the weather gets like this. It reminds me of that damned storm. And it doesn’t matter if I do fall asleep because the nightmares just follow me there. It's always the same. You lyin’ there at the bottom of the cliff, dying in my arms, and me utterly helpless.”

 

“Ray, I-” Callum began, but she cut him off, the words cascading from her like a landslide of half-phrases and hidden truths. “And sometimes you just die right there, other times we both do. But when you go first it's like I went right along with you. Because then I have to face the world without you and I just can’t do that. I can’t Callum.” There was a blurriness to her vision now, a wetness that disgusted her as much as it drove her on. “And I can’t even look over at you when I wake up after, because you’re not there. Not like when we’re on the road. And I-I just feel so alone and…”

 

He pulled her fully into his arms then, wrapping them around her protectively. Gently. As if he was worried that, should he squeeze too hard, she would shatter. She finally turned to look up at him, and the compassion and sadness in his gaze made her _ache_ to reach out to him. To comfort and be comforted by him. He did so first, brushing a hand against her face as he wiped the tears away, the trail of his hand marked by the wildfire that rushed across her skin at his touch. She leaned into it, missing its presence immediately once it left her face.

 

“Callum I-I.” She looked down, embarrassed to meet his eyes. Scared of his rejection. Finally, she spoke, in a voice so small he had to lean in to hear her.

 

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

 

Silence. Then he was pulling her into an embrace, drawing her as close to him as he could. He pressed his mouth to her ear, whispering.

 

“I know.” A pause. “Neither do I.”

 

Then he was pulling them up from the couch, gently taking the cup of tea from her death grip and setting it on the side table. He replaced it with his hand, rubbing the numbness out of it that she didn’t even realize was there, before pulling her gently along.

 

He led her into the adjoining room, a small bedroom free of the clutter that seemed to cover every surface of his study. Briefly uncovered by the clouds, moonlight illuminated the room with a soft radiance. Callum pulled the blankets away, guiding Rayla under them before laying down himself. Her breath caught as he pulled the blankets over them, wrapping his arms around her waist and setting his head on her shoulder. “I’ve got you.” He whispered, gently tracing circles on her hand with his own. “I’ve got you.”

 

Rayla felt the last of the tension draining away, her body relaxing into his as she drifted off to sleep. There were no nightmares that night, just a gentle feeling of safety and warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the latest chapter is up. Suppose these are just going to stay long. As always, your support drives me ever onward. There may be a bit more space between updates in the next few weeks. Some things are coming up that make it very difficult for me to devote as much time to this as I have, but fear not, I'm not giving up on trying to get one out every 24 hours. It's mildly addicting, and I may have a problem, but there are worse things to be addicted to.


	7. Melancholy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum wakes up with a certain someone in his bed, leading his mind to all manner of places - not all of them happy ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Recommendations; Stay With Me (Sam Smith), Hold My Girl (George Ezra)

When Callum finally awoke, it was from the kind of dream he rarely allowed himself to indulge in. The comforting type that nevertheless filled him with unrealistic expectations for the future. Despite the heartache he knew it would cause, it was nice to dream, even if reality was so far divorced from it. Then he came to his senses.

 

_ Someone else was in his bed. _

 

Callum did his best to slow his breathing, trying for the life of him to remember the night before. It normally wouldn’t be so hard for him, but he was unusually groggy this morning. In fact, he felt as if he’d slept the best he had in years. Could be that he was just exhausted. Or maybe it was the fact that his arms were still wrapped around...

 

_ Rayla. _

 

Slowly opening his eyes, Callum came face to face with his best friend. Quite literally in fact, as at some point in the night Rayla had turned to face him. The memories came flooding back. The way they’d both sat there, troubled by their thoughts but drawing comfort from one another. That on its own wasn’t unusual, but what came after certainly wasn’t ordinary. The crying. The comfort. Him holding her close to him, desperately trying to stave off the darkness and feeling so very incapable of doing so. How, in a moment of weakness, he’d drawn her into his lap. How her lips had been so tantalizingly close to his…

 

_ Enough of that. You know that’s not how this story ends. _

 

He couldn’t help himself as he carefully brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She looked so peaceful like this, unburdened by the hardships of the world. Her mouth was slightly open, her face close enough to his that he could feel the gentle flow of air as it passed in and out. Try though he might, he couldn’t help the sad smile that crossed his face either as he contemplated her in the early morning light. As he recalled the way she’d looked into his eyes the night before….

 

_ He was supposed to be the level-headed one of the two. But he couldn’t help the feelings that drew him ever closer to her. That begged him to reach out to her and pull her close to him. _

 

But he couldn’t allow himself to, couldn’t even. Leading her on like that would hurt both of them, and he couldn’t bear to see her hurt any more than she already was. He had an inkling of how she felt - he wasn’t that oblivious - but he didn’t dare give her the false hope he himself craved. He was a servant to the crown, first and foremost, and the circumstance of his birth ensured that one day he would be married off to some noble or wealthy courtier’s daughter. Such was the nature of politics, and he’d long since come to terms with the fact that, if that was the price he was asked to pay for the privileged life he’d been given, he’d be willing to pay it. Even if it cost him his happy ending.  

 

_ Even if it cost him her. _

 

So he clung to moments like this. The rare few hours of quiet contemplation, free from the attention of the endless train of sycophants and courtiers who attempted to sway him to one cause or another. He was a prince of Katolis, elder brother and close confidante of the boy-king, and archmage all rolled into one. To the vultures that circled his brother’s court, that made him valuable beyond imagining. That wasn’t the kind of life he wanted for Rayla. For either of them.

 

And so he played it thick. The obliviousness. The naivete. They were still there, he’d never be rid of his flaws, but the longer everyone considered him to be an eccentric, albeit influential, member of the court, he’d at least be able to glean a few more months of freedom. Indulge himself in the sick desire to keep her close without ever allowing them to draw too close. He hated himself for it, but every time he tried to cut things off, the sheer wrongness of the decision crippled him. So he carried on, always making excuses for allowing things to carry on as they did. Knowing all the while that it couldn’t last. That he’d eventually have to give up on his own happiness.

 

Callum had his suspicions that his luck was finally up. That the real reason Ezran had called him back to the castle was to talk over the possibilities for his future. For the future of their kingdom. And what better way to introduce him to potential suitors than the Winter Ball? There’d be delegations from each of the five kingdoms of the Pentarchy in attendance, and plenty of options for Callum to choose from. He could already imagine the advising council, heads bobbing in unison, as one member or another lauded themselves for coming up with such an excellent strategy.

 

_ Ezran would never agree, but what choice did he have? The integrity of his kingdom for the life of one man? Callum would never allow him to make that choice, even if it came to it. _

 

Rayla stirred slightly, drawing him out of his self-pity as their eyes met. His tinted with sadness, hers with sleep. There was a moment of confusion, followed by a shy smile not unlike his own had been that slowly spread across her face. There was no blush, no embarrassment or shame, just a spark of something in her eyes that set Callum’s heart racing.

 

“Mornin’ Callum.” She finally said, her accent coming out thick from under the weight of her dreamless slumber. “Good morning Ray.” He responded, an instinctual softness creeping into his voice, despite his best efforts. “Did you sleep well?”

 

“As well as could be expected.” She replied, pulling herself into a sitting position and stretching her arms far above her head. It had a rather curious effect on the dress she was wearing, one that quickly brought a blush to Callum’s cheeks and caused him to avert his gaze. Rayla noticed, a smug grin passing across her face before her expression switched into one of abject horror as she stared out the window.

 

“Callum!” She whispered harshly. “The bloody sun’s out!”

 

“Astute observation Ray. Clearly, you don’t share my early morning grogginess.” He replied sarcastically, doing his best to settle back into their usual banter. Anything to get away from  _ those  _ feelings.

 

“No, you idiot! It’s morning.” She repeated, taking care to enunciate each syllable, nodding along with him as comprehension dawned over his features. “Well, that’s unfortunate.” He finally replied.

 

“It’s a right fucking mess, is what it is!” Rayla breathed, earning the usual “Language!” from Callum. She leveled him with a withering glare, cowing him for a few moments before turning back to the issue at hand. Pulling herself out of bed, she paced across the room, both to stretch the sleep out of her legs and to attempt to organize her thoughts.

 

“It’s still pretty early in the mornin’, but you’ve got those poor folk out of their beds before the sun’s up, so chances are the castle is already swarming with servants.” She started, tossing another glare Callum’s way when he attempted to justify the ‘servants’ bit to her. “Suppose I could go out the window, but it’s icy as all hell right now, and I’d rather have a wounded pride than a broken neck.” She looked at Callum then, sitting there with an expression that would make Bait proud, and seemed to reconsider. “Though I suppose people have recovered from worse…”

 

“Hey!” Callum responded, indignant at being compared to the lovable, albeit less than conventionally glow toad they both knew and loved.

 

“Calm yourself, you daft prince. I’m joking. And keep your voice down, for ancients’ sake.”

 

“Your chambers are right across from mine. I could always just cause a distraction while you sneak back over. No one would ever be the wiser.” He contributed as if it was the most obvious plan in the world. Which, to him, it seemed to be.

 

“You don’t have to say it like that.” Rayla replied, ceasing her pacing for a moment to look at him with fierce defiance in her eyes. “Like what?” He asked. “Y’know, like we were doing somethin’ wrong.” He raised his eyebrows at that. “I never said that we did anything Rayla. What do you think happened?”

 

“Well, obviously nothin’!” There was the blush he was waiting for, the faint downward tilt of her ears, the way her eyes cast to the floor.

 

_ He had to admit, he was fond of the domineering and sarcastic Rayla, but he could get used to the soft unsure one as well. _

 

“Keep your voice down.” He repeated mockingly as he got up from the bed, crossing the space between them in a few short steps and wrapping his arms around her. She tensed for a moment, then leaned into the embrace, wrapping her own arms around his lower back and pulling him in close. Finally,  _ painfully _ , he pulled away from her, locking her gaze with his own.

 

“I’m glad I could be there to help you, but I wish you would have told me you’ve been having nightmares sooner. We don’t keep things from each other Ray, remember?” The irony of the statement wasn’t completely lost on him, but he watched her regardless. She squirmed a bit in his arms, but he held tight before she finally breathed a “Yeah, I know.”

 

Callum suddenly realized the position they were in. The way they were pressed to each other. The way that Rayla’s eyes kept flicking from his own to his lips. They were so close. So very close…

 

_ What was he doing? _

 

Callum was broken from his trance by the sound of a woman’s voice, reedy and tremulous, clear even from behind two doors and his study.

 

“Oh, Master Corvus, you could give a woman a heart attack, sneaking up like that.”

 

Callum and Rayla looked at each other sheepishly before curiosity got the better of them, opening the door into Callum’s study and padding silently towards the door which led out into the corridor beyond.

 

“Apologies, madam. I was merely coming here to retrieve the lady Rayla.”

 

Callum felt Rayla seize up next to him the moment her name left Corvus’ lips. It was odd, Callum thought. He never spoke so plainly, never made such an attempt to use flowery speech when it was just him and the servants. Unless…

 

_ He was giving them a chance. Letting them know that he knew. But how did he know? _

 

“The lady Rayla? Why would she be here? These are prince Callum’s rooms.” Came another voice, most likely the maid Corvus was speaking to. Callum thought he recognized it, could attach it to the face of an old woman who’d served the castle since he could remember. Not for the first time, he ruefully thanked the stars for the marvelous obilivity of uneducated peasants.

 

“Indeed they are, but the king had sent the lady Rayla here a few minutes ago to retrieve something from the prince, only to realize that he already had it in his possession.” Corvus explained, taking care to draw each word out as long as he could. 

 

“Oh dear. King though he may be, he’s still the same boy I’ve been cleaning up after all these years.” The servant responded, a clear fondness in her voice for the boy king. “But I’m afraid she may not have made it here yet. We never saw her enter, and we’ve been scrubbing this corridor clean for some time now.”

 

“Ah, but you see madam, the lady Rayla is a Moonshadow elf. Their steps are as silent as a shadow's, their passage scarcely more noticeable than a light breeze.” There was an eerie tone to the man’s voice now, as if he were describing some mythical creature, rather than the young elf that was holding Callum’s hand.

 

_ She was holding his hand. _

 

“Oh, well I suppose there’s been a bit of a draft. Hasn’t there Milly?” There was a moment of silence, and Callum could barely make out a mumbled affirmation from another woman. Milly, presumably. Rayla was in stitches next to him, her body shaking with silent laughter. He nudged her in the ribs, bringing a finger to his lips. She promptly gave him another finger, and he wondered who’d taught her that particular gesture.

 

There was a knock at the door, short and insistent. They waited a few moments, completing the illusion, before Callum opened it. He adopted an expression of mild grogginess - not too hard considering he’d been asleep just a few minutes prior - and threw a little annoyance into his voice as he met Corvus’ gaze. 

 

“Ah, Corvus. Maybe you can help Rayla and I find that document for Ez. Though I could have sworn that I passed it off to him at dinner a couple of days ago.”

 

“Actually, my prince, the king discovered that he had the document already in his possession. I’m afraid I foisted the lady Rayla on you for no reason.” He sounded apologetic, almost laughably so, but there was a knowing look in his eye. One that immediately put Callum on his back foot.

 

_ Who knew? Who told him? _

 

Quickly attempting to recover, Callum only briefly stuttered as he played into the charade. “O-Oh, it was no trouble. You know how grumpy she is in the morning though. When she woke me up, I thought I was facing down Bait for a moment.” He chuckled at the perceived memory, cutting it off quickly with a cough when he  _ felt  _ the glare Rayla was giving him.

 

She passed him by, wearing the expected glare, this one seemingly sincere, before acknowledging Corvus. “Leave it to our young king and prince to forget where they’ve left a document between the two of them. Whatever will we do with these fools Corvus?”

 

“Support them in any way we can my lady.” Corvus replied, a humorous glint in his eyes.

 

“Indeed. Any way we can. Do you hear that Callum? That’s what a loyal friend sounds like. I bet Corvus would never compare me to a toad.”

 

“That’s not what I mean-” Callum began.

 

“Oh no, it’s fine. Really. Next time I need to wake you from your beauty sleep I’ll just toss a bucket of water on you.” Her expression was downright sinister as the last few words passed her lips, but there was humor in her eyes too, and Callum found himself hopelessly lost on whether she was playing along or was actually mad at him. Maybe she was doing both?

 

The two of them walked off, already absorbed in conversation, leaving a stunned Callum in their wake. He stood there, speechless, before the maid sidled over to him. “Forgive me for being so bold my prince, but comparing a young lady to a glow toad is hardly a wise choice.” 

 

“I know Myriam.” He replied, the woman’s name suddenly coming to him. “Believe me, I know.” She smiled then, wiping her hands on her apron before setting one calloused hand on Callum’s shoulder. “Not to worry my prince. She’ll come around. Especially once she sees you all cleaned up and looking so very handsome.”

 

Callum was too surprised by the second half of the sentence to confront her over the first, but he tucked it for later. “What do you mean by me being ‘cleaned up’ and ‘handsome’?” 

 

“Well, we were going to send the girls by pretty soon to get you prepared for the arrival of the delegations.” The maid responded, taking the opportunity to brush a hair off of his shoulder. She smiled knowingly at the strand of white that drifted to the ground, before looking up at the man beside her. 

 

“Yeah, we’ll get you nice and handsome.” She trailed off, lost in memories of times long past. Times when it was her sneaking about the castle with a handsome young suitor.

 

“For the delegates.” Callum insisted.

 

“Right dear, for the delegates.” She replied absentmindedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, one more chapter out. This one's shorter, but I needed to take a break. Unfortunately, that break was filled with studying, but what are you going to do? Anyways, expect another one in the next few days. The plot is going to start thickening, so be ready for more than a little bit of frustration. Until next time


	8. Storm Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The celebration surrounding the Winter Ball has begun with the presentation of delegations, but when faces from Callum's past arrive at the castle, will he be able to forgive them? Or himself?

Rayla did everything elvenly possible to not look Corvus in the eye as they took what she presumed to be a path to Ezran's chambers. Instead, they took a circuitous route around the castle, passing every conceivable type of servant performing an equally wide array of tasks.

 

_ Right, the delegations. The Ball. _

 

It was one of the few things Rayla truly despised in her role as an ambassador. For the most part, there was a satisfaction in bringing elves and humans together. Frustrating certainly, especially when both sides refused to acknowledge they were at fault, but ultimately rewarding when a compromise was reached. If she had it her way, every negotiation would be a conversation. Every event as casual as decorum would allow. All the formalities - the rituals and “matters of conduct” - did little more than set everyone on edge. And the Winter Ball was one of those events that mixed everyone together and hoped for the best. 

 

“Give it a few more minutes, and then you can loop around and return to your chambers to get ready.” Corvus finally said, breaking the silence, a small grin on his face.

 

“Nothin’ happened,” Rayla mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “We were just talkin’ last night and fell asleep.”

 

“What you and prince Callum do behind closed doors is no business of mine, my lady. There’s no need to justify yourself to me.” His voice was calm, insistent. Freed of the judgement that Rayla had expected. Then again, Corvus had always treated her with a great deal of respect.  He took his job as Ezran’s protector very seriously, and she would never allow the boy to come to harm, so they had settled into a mutual, albeit grudging, respect for one another.

 

But there was… something to his voice. Rayla chanced a quick look at him, hesitant even to meet his gaze, but hoping to discern something of his true reaction from his body language.

 

_ The bastard was smiling! _

 

A full on cheshire grin, stretching from ear to ear. No wonder the guards they’d passed had looked at them so strangely. She’d known him to smirk. Occasionally to bark out a short laugh at something truly hilarious or ridiculous. But grinning like that? The expression would have looked more at home on a banther. 

 

“What’s so funny?” She asked defensively, her arms uncrossing as she scowled at the man walking beside her. “Oh, it’s nothing.” he responded, his voice holding back barely contained laughter. “I just can’t get the image of you looming over Callum out of my head. Do you have to pick him up?”

 

“Do I? Do I have to what? He’s not that short!” Rayla’s voice was indignant, more so than it had any right to be, and she immediately bit it back, but it was already too late. Corvus’ grin vanished, replaced by a smug smirk that was much closer to his usual mien. 

 

“You clever human.”

 

“Guilty as charged, my lady. Though I would appreciate it if you never shared that particular remark with prince Callum.” The smirk widened further, and Corvus came to a stop at the intersection of two hallways. “Take the hall to the right, then turn left once you see the red suit of armor. That’ll bring you back to your chambers.”

 

“Now hold on just a moment-” Rayla began, prepared to chew the man out for his presumptions. 

 

_ No matter how true they might be… _

 

“As much as I’d love to stay and chat about your nascent relationship, I do actually have to get back to the king. Best of luck to you, my lady. With him, you’ll need it.” He was walking before he finished the second sentence, tossing the third over his shoulder, leaving a stunned Rayla standing alone in the hall.

 

\---

 

The carriage trundled over the snow-covered roads, the hardiness of its horses and the sturdiness of its wheels ensuring it made steady if slow, progress. They’d rested the night before, when the howling wind and driving snow reduced to the world to a white facade of its former self, but now that same snow had clung to every surface, outlining each curve and angle with reflective beauty that took the young woman’s breath away. With a pang, she realized just how much Callum would have loved to paint something like this. But he was likely miles from here, off on some diplomatic mission meant to ensure “the continuing peace between human and elvenkind.”

 

Claudia turned away from the road ahead, hooking her upper body around the carriage and into the cabin, meeting her brother’s gaze from her precarious perch. He was bundled up against the wall of the carriage, supposedly still fast asleep, but Claudia could tell that he was just trying to glean a few more moments of rest from the rapidly encroaching morning.

 

“Wakey wakey Sore-Bear.” She intoned, a forced humor to her voice that seemed so obvious to her that he’d surely pick up on it. Her brother groaned, turning over in the seat, before finally opening a single eye and fixing it on her. Soren’s face split into a bleary grin as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, looking about the carriage and beyond as he disentangled himself from the blankets he’d been bundled in.

 

“Morning Clauds. We nearly there?” He finally asked, his voice heavy with the same false cheeriness. The two of them contemplated each other for a moment, their faces shifting into matching smiles. More than a little sorrow tinged their expressions. There was hurt there too, deep beneath the passage of years and the neutral expressions they were trying to force, but more than anything, there was an understanding. Soren reached out to place a gloved hand on his sister’s. She nodded, turning back to face the road ahead.

 

“Yeah. Looks like we’re just about there.” She said, her eyes catching on the view of two uneven towers rising over a familiar town. Nostalgia panged her heart, and she felt more than a little nauseous as the memories of her life before… before everything happened flooded back to her.

 

She’d been surprised to receive the invitation. Surprised still to recognize Ezran’s curling signature at the bottom of the page. They’d remained in contact, even after that terrible night, but this had been the first time he’d reached out. She hoped it was a sign that things between them could finally be healed.

 

She turned to the carriage driver, a burly Del Barri man whose red beard was frosted with ice. Huldr was his name, and she’d heard him say a grand total of twelve words in the two weeks they’d been traveling together, but there was a kindness to his eyes that made it seem less like he didn’t want to talk and more like he simply didn’t feel the need to do so.

 

“Have you been to Katolis before, Huldr?” She asked, desperate for something other than her memories to occupy her mind. “Try to avoid it if I can.” He responded, clearly considering the conversation resolved by the set of his shoulders.

 

_ Alright, nineteen words were better than twelve. _

 

Claudia looked back at the short train of carriages behind them. Five in total, all carrying various members of the Del Barri nobility and their retainers. There’d been some grumbling about allowing the two children of an expatriate to represent them at the Ball, but the Jarl’s Court could hardly refuse a direct invitation from the king of Katolis. They’d set out two weeks past, in the middle of winter, when most sensible folk wouldn’t travel to the next village, and they’d paid for it in exhausted stares and frayed nerves.

 

Not for the first time, Claudia wondered if that wasn’t intentional. The other nations of the Pentarchy had never been invited to what was normally a Durreni and Katolin affair. Maybe this was a show of power, a way of forcing the other kingdoms to come to Katolis already on the back foot. If so, it was a brilliant little maneuver, and she found herself wondering if it had been Ezran’s idea or one formulated by the fearsome young queen of Duren.

 

She’d met Aanya once, the encounter having left a distinctive image of a girl, scarcely older than Ezran, commanding the attention of an entire room of nobles. Claudia had reveled in the uncomfortable expressions and shifting footsteps of the gathered noblemen as the fierce young woman systematically deconstructed each of them verbally, politically, and emotionally. 

 

Or rather, Claudia had enjoyed the view right up until the moment she’d turned her gaze in  _ her  _ direction. Leveling her with a glare that contained such unrestrained disdain that she suddenly felt very small. Word had it the queen was coming to the Ball herself, and Claudia was not looking forward to a second meeting.

 

The carriage trundled onto the cobblestones of the city, and Claudia felt nostalgia be overtaken by nerves. The people of Katolis had turned out to watch the delegations roll into the city, and she felt more than a few glares of recognition aimed her way. She quickly clambered across the side of the carriage, slipped in through the door, and settled herself down on the cushioned seat across from her brother. He was already looking wistfully out the window, unrestrained heartache writ across his features.

 

Her hand found his, and he looked back at her. There were tears in his eyes and, she realized, her own. Bitter tears. Happy tears. Soren squeezed her hand with his own, and the two of them relaxed ever so slightly. 

 

“We’re home Claudia.”

 

\---

 

Callum looked over himself yet again in the mirror he’d set in the corner of the study. It was a curious thing - clearly of elven design - that had apparently been brought up from the dungeons. The draconic writ on the gilded edge was beyond him, and so he usually kept a sheet over it. Out of sight, out of mind, and he hardly wanted anyone thinking he was so vain as to preen himself in the mirror before he went out. Of course, seeing as that was exactly what he was doing, he felt more than a bit foolish.

 

Still, he had to admit that he looked good. Very archmage-ish, if that was even a word. It probably was. It would be weird for the elves to have so many powerful mages amongst their people and not have the appropriate words to describe them. He’d have to find an elf who would talk to him and ask them the next time he traveled to Xadia. 

 

_ Archmagical? No, that’s stupid. _

 

His train of thought was interrupted by a knock at his door. “Come on in.” He called, not bothering to look to see who had entered. He knew that knock.

 

“Well then, look at you, all resplendent in your fancy robes.” Came Rayla’s perpetually teasing tone.

 

_ Ooh, resplendent. That was a good one. _

 

He anticipated the mocking smile on her face and turned to meet her gaze with one of his own. She’d donned her ceremonial armor, an impressive work of green-dyed leather and polished ironbark that evoked the image of the elven warriors of old, or so he’d been told. He’d always thought that she’d looked a bit odd in such flashy accouterments, but here, with the watery sunlight of a wintry morning filtering out over her, catching in her hair and painting her face with dull shadow and pale light, he had to admit that she cut a striking figure. 

 

_ She always did. _

 

“Of course, your collar is all kinds of messed up.” She quipped, suddenly returning to the Rayla he was familiar with. Her fingers suddenly brushed against his neck as she straightened his collar, catching him by surprise and causing the slightest intake of breath to pass his lips. He pulled away subconsciously, but Rayla just held him by the collar. “Stop fussing. Honestly, you’d think you’d manage to learn how to do a collar by now.”

 

His eyes sought hers, and he stilled. “Maybe I just didn’t want to miss out on this.” He replied, his voice low. There was silence for a moment as Rayla continued to work at it, finally letting out a huff of resignation and meeting his eyes. They were level now - thanks to the boots - and he derived a fierce prided from being able to look her in the eye. Something flickered in her eyes -  something unreadable - and then she turned away, clearing her throat. “We should get down to the courtyard. They’ll be here soon.”

 

Leaving his study, the two of them made fast work of the many hallways and staircases of their route to the courtyard. Callum could practically  _ feel  _ the silence between them. Its presence was tangible, a silent specter that separated them and left him feeling utterly alone. He should be glad for it, should be pleased that the previous night’s events hadn’t led to something more… intimate, but he couldn’t help the part of him that wanted the exact opposite.

 

They made it to the courtyard by the time the first of the Durenni delegation was making their way through the gatehouse. The pair took up their positions besides Ezran. Ignoring Corvus’ smirk and Opheli’s scowl, Callum looked out from his front-row view as Queen Aanya of Duren rode at the fore of her kingdom’s delegation. Her golden hair was tied back, set with precious stones that glittered like stars in the morning light. Gold tinted her features as well, an aurous body paint that accentuated the high cheekbones and subtle curves of the young queen’s face. Her train was clad in the vibrant blue and pale white of the court, magnificent in their countenance, but clearly unused to the harsh winters of the land they’d traveled to judging by the heavy fur cloaks draped around their shoulders - massive things that were likely as heavy as sin and cost more than most could make in a year.

 

In stark contrast was the delegation from Evenere. Callum was surprised to realize that, distracted by the opulence of Duren, most of the Eveneri had slipped into the courtyard by the time his eyes first caught upon them. Subdued blacks and greens were their hues, the fabrics rendered in such a way as to suggest their clothes were as functional as they were fashionable. Their wealth was displayed in subtleties. In bands of precious pearls and abalone adorning their necks, in bracelets of silver set with streaks of amber, and in the bows and canes of exotic hardwood that they carried with them, gilt with filigree of unknown metals which glinted strangely in the light. Perhaps the only obvious thing about them were the three old men who traveled amongst their number - stooped elders who leaned on staves carved from porous swamp wood, hung with all manner of trinkets and fetishes. They certainly looked the part of their profession, and Callum felt Rayla shift uneasily next to him at the sight of three dark mages walking so openly into the castle grounds.

 

Evenere may have slipped into the courtyard, but Neolandia practically paraded. They’d arrived on a train of elephants of all things, and how they’d managed to keep the things alive and healthy through the already harsh winter was beyond him. Their very approach was an assault on the senses. Incense drifted down from the howdahs draped with tapestries and banners that straddled each beast’s back. Nobles lounged on cushions and leaned casually over the edges of the platforms, waving and gesticulating cheerfully at the assembly in the courtyard. The gold and black of the Neolandian court were everywhere one looked, accompanied by a dozen shades of red and blue that Callum assumed indicated the houses of individual nobles in the delegation.

 

If the Katolin guards set their hands closer to their weapons at the sight of the Del Barri delegation, he wouldn’t have blamed them. His own drifted subconsciously to where  _ Tempestad  _ was sheathed at his waist. The carriages were drawn not by horses, but by some of the largest rams Callum had ever seen. Massive draft animals with chests as large as barrels and hooves the size of dinner plates. Their bodies were wrapped in maille, tabards displaying the deep greens and browns of the royal court along their flanks. Steam billowed from their nostrils in the cold morning air, all but obscuring the drivers. Each man was fully armored, his weapon stowed to his side but within easy reach. Theirs was the functional kind, not an inch of space wasted on adornment or decoration. Never ones for showy displays of wealth, the Del Barri established their presence with the stoic swagger they always seemed to carry with them. They were a people who earned their titles rather than be born to them, and it showed in the apparent competence of every man and woman in the delegation.

 

As each kingdom’s representatives took their positions facing their Katolin counterparts a herald detached themselves from each of the delegations. The Katolin herald went first, as was custom, introducing each member of the court in such painstaking detail that Callum felt as if his head would burst from the sudden influx of useless information. He’d heard each canned speech a dozen times before, and try though he might, his eidetic memory made it impossible to purge the nonsense from his mind. His ears perked up as the herald’s introductions came to him, surprised and more than a little embarrassed by the orator’s embellishments of his deeds.

 

“Crown Prince Callum of Katolis, Archmage of the Sky Arcanum. Sworn ally of the court of the Dragon King. Honored Friend of the Moonshadow elves. Wind-Speaker of the Skywing conclave. Mageslayer.”

 

He winced at that last one.

 

The line continued, the herald quailing under a harsh stare from Rayla and instead summing up her accomplishments as a “Friend of the Katolin Court.” And so it continued. An endless flood of words as each herald stepped forward, introducing the seemingly never-ending stream of nobles and retainers that had come to the castle. His mind slowly drifted away from the event, trying desperately to ignore the biting cold and failing. The wind had picked up, blowing the syllables of the Neolandian herald away as he desperately tried, and failed, to introduce the third of some noble’s daughters.

 

The Del Barri herald’s voice rang out clear and true past the gale. It was a voice used to cutting through mountain storms, and it cleaved the rising wind like a hot knife through butter. “Völva Claudia of Del Bar, and her brother, Thane Soren of Del Bar. Loyal servants of the Jarl’s Court”

 

The wind stopped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the break seems to have gone on way longer than intended. Honestly though, I was just trying to get over writer's block, and college is not helping. Anyways, hope you enjoy the (very late by my standards) chapter. Thanks for sticking with me through the brief absence, and expect another one in the next few days.


	9. The Burdens of Nobility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum finds the calm in his storm. Ezran and Aanya rehash an old argument.

Rayla could feel the change in pressure immediately - both physically and in the worried glances that trailed back and forth across the courtyard. The Del Barri herald faltered for only a moment, and then carried on in his announcements. Murmuring began to build at the edges of the courtyard, and more than one curious pair of eyes found the young archmage standing at the king’s side. 

 

More than the mood of the courtyard, Rayla could sense the energy coming off of Callum. Every hair on her body stood on end as she turned to look at him, and the sight slammed her with a pang of worry. His face was pale, his breathing shallow. She swore that she could see a light flicker of something bright in his eyes, but otherwise the telltale signs of one of his attacks were apparent. 

 

More and more often, he’d begun to call upon the wind passively. Without the motions or fancy words, most mages were useless. But with practice and power comes new talents, new skills that are unique to each mage. Usually, it was small things. Minor expressions of power. But Callum had never been anything resembling the usual, and she was almost certain that if she didn’t do something, he was about to call down the storm whether he wanted to or not.

 

She ran a calculation through her head. Tried her best to figure out the angles and sightlines, but that had always been Runaan’s thing. Or Callum’s. Never hers. Still, if she didn’t do something, it wouldn’t matter who saw what.

 

She’d already been standing to his right, so she simply closed the space between them. Made it seem innocuous, as if she was bumping into him, and then carefully entwined her own fingers with his. The shock of it nearly forced her to cry out. 

 

Rayla felt the energy coming off of him, the raw electricity that he channeled so mindlessly nearly buckling her as she held on for dear life. She gritted her teeth, squeezing his hand with everything she had until he finally seemed to notice her. It was as if a sigh of relief filled the courtyard as the wind slowly picked back up. 

 

Rayla blinked the spots away from her vision, taking a few deep breaths as she tried to ignore the painful tensing of muscles up her arm. Her hand was burned, she was certain, but as she tried to pull it away she found it caught in Callum’s vice grip. He was holding on to her for dear life, and for the first time she saw the expression on his face. Fear, melding into shame and terror. 

 

_ He’d had no control whatsoever. _

 

The thought filled her with a similar sense of dread. What would have happened if he had released that kind of built up power? Especially with her holding on to him? Then she felt one of his fingers loosen, its tip running lightly over her pulse. His grip loosened somewhat, became softer, and by some clever trick of the wind he managed to bring the sleeve of his robe over their entwined hands, concealing them from anyone who might look in their direction.

 

He turned to her then, a wan smile on his face, but she could still see that fear in his eyes. He was being brave for her. Trying to pass it off as nothing for her. Most importantly, she’d tried to pull away from his hand. Tried to keep things simple between them. A friend comforting another friend. But he’d held on. He still was.

 

And their hands fit perfectly together.

 

\---

 

Ezran walked into his study, unsurprised to find a familiar young woman had already taken one of the chairs by the fireplace. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he approached her. Taking time to meet with and reassure representatives from each of the delegations had been bad enough, especially after Callum’s… less than favorable reaction. Now he was going to have to explain the situation to Aanya, and that was never an easy task.

 

“My Lady, may I sit?” He asked as he finally reached her side, an expression of stoicism thoroughly out of place on his features.

 

“As I’ve reminded you countless times, you are the king of these lands, I am a guest, and this is a private meeting. The decorum is not necessary. And if you think you’re earning points by observing it, you’re not.” Aanya’s eyes met his, the expression of reproach quickly melting into one of tired acceptance. “But of course, you knew that.”

 

“I can neither confirm nor deny the vanity of that statement my Lady.” He replied, the expression not leaving his face.

 

“The correct word is ‘veracity’ Ezran. Please, sit down. We need to talk.” Her voice was measured, contained and directed as ever, but Ezran could tell there was something eating away at her. He took his own seat across from her, marveling at the way the firelight flickered over her gold-tinted features. He wondered for a moment how intimidating he looked in the firelight. Not very much, probably. He began hesitantly, ready for her to launch into one of her tirades at any moment. “I know that Callum’s reaction was hardly ideal, but with everything that’s happened between them, we knew that there was a possibility of something like this happening.”

 

“What? Oh, that? No, that’s nothing. I’ve already managed to smooth it over.” Aanya smiled, casually dismissing the fact that every man and woman in the courtyard had been at the unwitting mercy of an archmage. “Everyone gets gestures of power, and having your brother stop the wind absentmindedly was quite the gesture indeed.”

 

“Yeah, right. That’s what I did.” Ezran replied, his voice trailing off to a murmur at the end. Aanya didn’t seem to notice, as her mind was firmly set on whatever she was getting at. Her eyes flicked about as if she were reading something in front of her, her hands fidgeting ever so slightly in her lap. 

 

_ Was she nervous? _

 

Ezran had never known Aanya to be nervous, and they’d been close friends for almost three years now. She’d been a constant ally and confidante to him. Driven, certainly, and fiercely devoted to her kingdom and its interests, but also one of the few people who could truly understand his situation. He valued their friendship, valued her perspective on all matters, but more and more he was beginning to realize that much of Aanya’s attentions likely had some ultimate purpose. Was he about to find out her master plan? Was that why she seemed so nervous? Or was she just anxious to speak her mind?

 

“I think,” she began slowly “it may be time for us to discuss marriages and engagements again.” Every word was carefully chosen, every syllable purposefully enunciated. It sounded practiced, and Ezran wondered how many times she’d turned the sentence over before she spoke it. It was an old topic with them. A contentious one.

 

“I’m not going to marry Callum off to anyone.” His voice was suddenly intense, all traces of hesitance or humor gone from it in an instant. “Not now, not ever. He’s my brother, he’s capable of making his own decisions, and I won’t force him to sacrifice his happiness for the realm.” Aanya sighed, bringing her hand up to the bridge of her nose. Annoyance radiated from her, and it only served to further Ezran’s frustrations.

 

“I figured you might say something like that.” She said softly, placatingly. “You said as much last year, but then I thought ‘Why would he bring Callum here unless he’s finally seen reason.’ But of course, you still haven’t.” The last words left her mouth with what almost resembled a sneer and Ezran felt his composure begin to give way.

 

“You do realize this is my court right? My castle? My kingdom? You get mad at me for observing decorum and then call me senseless to my face? What do you want Aanya? What do you want from me? From Callum?” He was shouting now, his voice having raised with each syllable until he could hardly contain himself. Aanya remained placid, a rueful smile on her face. Finally, she spoke, her voice as measured as always, but containing none of the warmth it had held before.

 

“I want a competent ally. I want to see the man I know you can become stand as my equal. I want to see Katolis remain strong. Want to see her coffers overflow so that she can trade with Duren. We are smaller than you, but still mighty. And you are large, but faltering. We can support each other. Ensure that the other kingdoms respect us.” Her voice rose ever so slightly, but she may as well have been yelling for the contrast it left. “More than anything, I want to be happy, and safe, and secure. I want my people to feel the same. And that only happens if we stand united. I want you to be a good king Ezran, and that means you might have to make some choices you’re uncomfortable with.”

 

There was silence between them. An empty thing that echoed with hurt and bared emotions. Then she spoke up again. Her voice was softer than Ezran had ever heard it. Something rested just under the surface, but for the life of him, he couldn’t begin to understand it.

 

“But you’re my friend Ezran. Probably my only friend. And I want you to be happy.” Her eyes came back to his then, and it was the first time he’d seen her truly vulnerable. Her heart truly bared. “I don’t want to have to make these kinds of decisions either, but what else can we do?”

 

She turned away from him, eyes cast to the floor, and Ezran left his chair to kneel by hers. She looked at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Kneeling to a foreign queen is hardly keeping with decorum, my Lord.” Ezran scoffed, crooking his head to the side as a smile of his own crossed his features. “I’m not kneeling to a foreign queen, I’m talking to a friend who’d rather look at the floor than my eyes.” 

 

She blushed slightly at that, embarrassment coloring her features a light pink. Ezran seemed taken aback by the whole thing. Now she was blushing? Who was this… girl, and what had she done with Aanya? He cast the thought away, intent on pressing his point home.

 

“We can be better.” He began. Aanya’s eyes met his again. “My mother and father were lucky enough to find love in a way that was acceptable to the court, but not everyone is so lucky, and he told me that he would have married her regardless of anyone’s approval. Love isn’t something you can just force on people, and a marriage without love is just words.” It was his turn to look down. His turn to be embarrassed. “And when I marry someone, I intend for it to be someone that I truly love. Someone that will help me become a better me.”

 

There was another silence, though one much warmer than the first. Ezran suddenly realized he was still kneeling and he quickly pulled himself up, brushing the knees of his pants as he came eye-to-eye with Aanya. There was something… intense in her eyes, and he felt himself pulling away ever so slightly. She didn’t seem to notice as she quickly got up from her seat, propelling herself towards the door.

 

“Where are you going? Did I say something wrong?” Ezran called after her, confusion apparent in his voice. “No you fool, you said something right for once.” She replied, a chuckle creeping into her voice. Ezran was left standing in the middle of the study, entirely convinced that he would never understand women.

 

\---

 

Aanya swept out of the throne room in a hurry, taking only a moment to nod a greeting at Corvus as a young woman swept past him and took up her customary position at her side. Bina was everything one could hope for in an assistant. She had better be, as Aanya had paid a considerable sum to have an actual Quill in her court. 

 

The woman was already plying her with the latest gossip in the court, a never-ending stream of fancies and polities that slipped out of Aanya’s head almost as soon as they entered. Bina seemed to sense this, and quickly lapsed into silence, waiting for her mistress to initiate conversation.

 

They traversed a few more of the castle’s winding hallways before Aanya finally spoke up, her plans set into stone. “Bina, I will need you to send a message to the Duke of Ben Mir.”

 

“Its contents, my Queen?” Came Bina’s clipped query.

 

“My engagement to his son is called off. Provide him with the hands of two of my maids-in-waiting as recompense.” Aanya replied, her mind already skipping along to the next matter as if she hadn’t just changed the entire landscape of Durreni politics.

 

“Yes, my Queen,” Bina responded as she jotted a note down in the journal that perpetually disappeared and reappeared from her hand. Not for the first time, Aanya wondered where she kept it, but she quickly launched into her next point.

 

“Also, inform Mister Lewis that I will be needing the dress that I requested he bring. Tell him that it is to be delivered as we previously discussed.” They stopped their conversation for a moment as a troop of guardsmen milled past, apparently on their way to the changing of the guard. Each man gave a respectful nod as they passed, but never stopped to bow, a gesture that Aanya noted with approval. Once they’d passed, the clanking of their armor fading away, Bina’s voice resumed their conversation. 

 

“As you command, my Queen. Would you like me to perform any other errands for you?” There was no hint of reproach in her voice, but Aanya caught her eye regardless, a flash of humor passing between them. “Simply escort me to my chambers, and then make all due haste to see that the tasks I’ve given you are done.” 

 

“As you wish, my Queen. This way, please.” Aanya followed her loyal Quill to the chambers that had been granted to her delegation. The smile that crossed her face never quite reached her eyes, but it was a necessity in a place with so many eyes on her. It wouldn’t do for her people to see her so deep in thought. Still, there was some satisfaction to be had when a plan began to come together, and she allowed herself a rare genuine smile before her court.

 

This was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess we're just going with one every three or four days from now on. I'd rather they be of a high quality than a quantity, and that seems to be the prevailing opinion as well. Hope you guys enjoy!


	10. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum tries to isolate himself, but Claudia isn't letting that happen.

Callum balanced the pencil between his fingers, pressing the tip to his chin as he contemplated the canvas in front of them. Lines of varying boldness and detail crossed it, the skeleton of a painting taking shape. He let his mind drift across the canvas, recalling the angles of the courtyard’s walls. the way the fabric of a hundred banners flickered in the wind, the subtle ebb and flow of people as they shifted their positions. The beasts and their carriages. 

 

There had been so much, and he began to feel overwhelmed by the sheer thought of it, but then he felt the ghost of a touch. The light pressure of a hand that, while not physically there, still grounded him. He took a breath, using the moment of clarity it gave him to settle his nerves. Drawing things had always helped him make sense of them - had compressed confusing moments into an expression he had control over.

 

Take control of your present, and you’ll be able to make sense of your past.

 

He smiled at the memory of the words - at the elf who’d spoken them. He often missed his mentor, and it suddenly seemed as if it had been a very long time since they’d spoken. He glanced over at the sun-lamp on his desk, recalling the work that had gone into his construction, and wondered if he’d ever reach that level of mastery. Whether he’d ever have that much control.

 

He could call down the storm with the best of them, that was for sure, but it didn’t matter if he was the most powerful mage who ever lived if he couldn’t control it. If he had let loose - if he had allowed any harm to come to the innocent people in that courtyard - he would have never forgiven himself. Thankfully, Rayla had been there.

 

_ Rayla. _

Rayla, who had grounded him on so many more occasions than just a few hours ago in the courtyard. Whose very presence calmed the storm inside of him. Who suffered for it. Rayla, who had finally pulled her hand out of his with a light gasp. Rayla, who had a burned hand because of him.

 

That thought alone filled him with so much shame, so much regret, that he felt as if he could throw himself from the tower. He couldn’t control his magic - the one thing he was supposed to be good at - and Rayla had gotten hurt because of it. But of course, the only look on her face was one of concern. No reproach, no fear, just worry. His first instinct was to alleviate that concern, but how could he do that if he was the source? How could he allow himself to comfort her if he was trying to distance himself from those feelings?

 

Callum felt as if he was being blown in a dozen directions. Every concern and hardship that he faced swirling into the ever-present storm in his mind, wind ripping around him again and again as it tore the words from his mouth and the sense from his mind. Normally, the solution would be simple; find Rayla. But that wasn’t an option now. He couldn’t allow it to be an option. So he would suffer in silence, just like he used to do, and he would sketch a picture in the hope that it would bring him clarity.

 

There was a knock at the door. One that brought old memories crashing into a carefully constructed wall. It was small, contained yet persistent. It was a knock that used to set his heart racing. Now it all but stopped it. It would seem that returning to the old way of doing things attracted its own demons.

 

_ Claudia. _

 

Claudia, who had once held his heart in her hands. Claudia, who he’d once longed for more than anyone in his life. Who’d been his first love, first heartbreak, first lesson in heartache. Who he’d grown up alongside. Claudia, whose father he’d all but destroyed in order to keep him from killing his friends and family. Who was at his door.

 

The knocking stopped for a moment. Callum held his breath. Would she leave? He got his answer when her voice came from the other side of the door.

 

“Callum? Do you have a minute? Ezran said he saw you come here, but no one’s seen you leave for a few hours, and I just wanted to talk to you. Try to… understand a few things I guess?” There was a pause, and then a small noise that Callum couldn’t quite catch. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine too. I don’t want to make things any worse than they are. I ju-”

 

Callum crossed the room before his courage could abandon him, tugging it open and stumbling back in surprise as Claudia tumbled into the room, having apparently been divested of the door’s support.  For her part, Claudia seemed relatively nonplussed, looking up at him with the same shy smile that used to leave him tongue-tied. Now it just panged his heart with sadness.

 

“Hey Cal, you come here often?”

 

\---

 

Claudia stared at Callum over the rim of her teacup. He’d seemed oddly intent on preparing it for her, and who was she to argue? It was good too, though she’d never been fond of honey. He pulled his desk chair over to sit across from her, pointedly avoiding sitting next to her on the couch. Judging by the set of his shoulders and the way his fingers were drumming a cadence against his own teacup, he was about as tense as she was. He was just worse at hiding it. Always had been.

 

He hadn’t yet spoken more than a few words since she’d rather unceremoniously entered his room, and she was beginning to think that they were going to sit there in silence indefinitely until he finally spoke up.

 

“So… You’re doing well for yourself in Del Bar huh? Didn’t quite recognize the title, but the herald gave the appropriate bombast to make it sound important.” He seemed earnest, he really did, but the smile that he was forcing onto his face might as well have been a scowl for all it did to bring levity to the conversation.

 

“Yeah, a völva is a sort of advisor. Something of a wise-woman who advises the court on matters not strictly… physical.” She replied, carefully stepping around what she knew would be the sticking point. Of course, he immediately seized on it. 

 

“So like a spiritual guide or something?” He asked incredulously, as if he couldn’t imagine her being related to anything spiritual. He was right, but it still aggravated her. “No, not like a spiritual guide. More of a… magical one.”

 

“Oh.” He said simply, distrust immediately creeping into his voice.

 

“You don’t have to say it like that. Like there’s something wrong with me.” Defensiveness tinted her own in response.

 

“I just don’t get why you’re still caught up in all of that. It’s just… wrong. It’s dangerous, destructive, self-consuming…” He trailed off, catching her eye with a flash of something. Regret? Shame? Now that was interesting. Claudia seized the opportunity, pressing home with her own point. Her own heat.

 

“What exactly do you think the children of a disgraced Katolin mage and a minor Del Barri noblewoman have to offer to the Jarl’s Court?” She asked, her voice quiet but no less traced with steel for it. “Because it certainly isn’t primal magic. Or information. Soren had his skill with a sword, and thankfully they recognized it, but where do you think that left me, Callum?” She continued, her voice raising ever so slightly. He seemed like he was about to answer, but Claudia cut him off, not willing to let him weave some response from thin air like he always seemed to be able to do.

 

“It left me vulnerable, and there were plenty of men in the court who tried to take advantage of that fact.” She said, her voice blunt - the raw emotion laid bare.

 

“Oh.” Was his only response.

 

“Yeah, oh.” She replied, not mockingly, but harsh in her tone regardless. “Del Bar has a very conservative attitude about dark magic. Its use can only be justified under very serious circumstances, and those are few and far between. The ingredients are expensive for even the simplest of spells, and that might not have been a problem with the stores of them and the funds for more that Katolis provided, but we’re a bit busy surviving to worry about those kinds of things.” She paused for a moment, desperate for some flicker of acknowledgment in Callum’s eyes and, as much as she hated to admit it, some degree of approval.

 

“It’s already ‘we’ then huh?” He asked, a sad smile crossing his features. This one reached his eyes, and the sadness there hit her like a wave crashing against the shore. The regret. The pity. Suddenly, she didn’t see the boy she’d grown up with anymore, but the man that everyone else must see when they looked at him. He’d grown taller, she realized, likely taller than her, though that wasn’t hard to do. But there was something else there - something deeper. Beyond the height. Beyond the light beard that was growing on his face or the faint muscle that was noticeable under his clothing. There was a weight to his shoulders, to his eyes, that seemed to pull her in. An undeniable gravity of being that made her realize exactly why everyone’s eyes had been drawn to him in the courtyard. The wind had stopped, and he was the only one with the  _ presence _ to be able to do such a thing.

 

_ Callum had grown up. They both had. _

 

“Well, it’s not like I had much of a choice.” Her voice was softer now, matching his own. He began to interject, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand, taking a moment to compose herself. It still wasn’t enough to keep it out of her voice, and the words rolled out of her before she could stop them. “Dad was… gone. Soren and I were without purpose, without options, so we went home. He fell in with the Jarl pretty quickly - saved his life in an ambush actually - but that left me in a pretty tough spot.” She looked him in the eye, allowing the defiance she’d felt then banish the sorrow from her voice. “I was tired of letting men dictate my worth to the court, and as much as I loved Soren, I wasn’t just going to be ‘his sister’ to the rest of them. So I fell back onto the only thing I was ever good at.” 

 

The defiance pulled ahead now. Who was Callum to question her? Her friend once, probably her best one, but still just another person. And the way he was looking at her pissed Claudia off. “And you know what? I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m not going to let you feel bad for me because you think I’ve fallen from some lofty path that you’re on, but not everyone can break a thousand years of tradition and understanding and master an Arcanum! I’m a mage too damn it, and I’m a damned good one at that!” She felt exultant as she let the words break free. She hadn’t realized just how much she wanted to say them, and the relief that flooded through her was tangible.

“Are you done?” Was Callum’s only response.

 

“Am I done? Am I done?!” She asked, her voice rising with each syllable.

 

“Yes, are you done?” He repeated.

 

“Yeah, I’m done.” She replied, suddenly sheepish. Had she really been yelling at the crown prince in his own chambers? It felt good, sure, but she was also a guest, and it wasn’t like there was a lot of good will left between them. She raised her eyes to his own, ready to give a not entirely sincere apology, and was thrown for a loop when she realized there were tears in his eyes. 

 

“I’m sorry Claudia.” He all but whispered. She got up from her chair instinctively, crossing the space between them and kneeling ever so slightly to be at his level. The archmage was gone - Callum was all that was left. She moved to press a hand to his cheek but caught herself, instead settling for bringing his hands between her own. “It’s fine Callum, I just had a lot pent up inside of me, and I guess it all just came out.” She was reminded of the many times she’d had to do this when they were children, and was about to make a remark to that effect when he suddenly met her eyes. The intensity was startling, and she could all but feel the storm raging inside of him. “No, I’m sorry.” He breathed. “For everything.”

 

“Oh.”

 

_ The memories flooded back to her then in earnest. Holding her father’s body close to her, watching the light slowly drain from his eyes as some magic clawed the life from him. Callum slumped off to the side, his body drained, blackened veins spreading across his face. The way his eyes had caught hers, black meeting green, and the way he had pleaded with her to end his suffering. How she had left him alone in the rubble of the circle, taking her father’s body with her. _

 

“Yeah, oh.” He mocked lightly, calling upon a sense of levity they both knew wasn’t there. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m sorry for everything that happened between us.” There was silence for a long while as Claudia met his stare. Their eyes flashing with everything that was and could have been. Finally, she broke it. “I know you’re sorry Callum, but that doesn’t change what happened. For what it’s worth, I forgave you a long time ago. Soren too. We just never really had the opportunity to talk things through.”

 

Where hers had been internal, Callum’s relief was tangible - spreading over his body like a calm breeze, loosening his tensed form and leaving a sort of tired acceptance in its place. Claudia suddenly noticed how close the two of them were, and she drew herself back to her seat on the couch. Callum seemed to notice, another sad smile crossing his face, though one tinged with understanding. He grabbed his own teacup from the table, grimacing at the taste as he sipped at it.

 

“And my tea’s cold. Great.” Claudia laughed, She couldn’t help herself, and soon the two of them were laughing harder than they had in a long while. At themselves, at the situation and, perhaps, from the sheer relief of being able to laugh together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I promise I'm done apologizing for how few and far between these are. I will say that you should expect a few in rapid succession as I get them out before I go dark for the next two weeks. As always, thank you for your support. It's what drives me to keep at this. For those of you celebrating, have a happy Easter!


	11. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claudia cuts to the root of Callum's issues, and receives closure of her own.

Claudia glanced at Callum over the rim of her teacup as he regaled her with his tales of Xadia. The curiosity that flickered in his eyes - the love and admiration that poured out with every syllable - was almost palpable, and despite only ever entering the country for a brief period with her father, she immediately felt as if she had missed out on some hidden aspect of the land across the border.

 

  First and foremost, Claudia was a mage. She’d shouted as much at him earlier, and she cringed internally at the memory, but she’d meant every word. Two things that were necessary for any mage to master, primally attuned or not, were pattern recognition and an ear for detail. Subtle differences in the pronunciation of words of power could mean the difference between success and failure. Callum was many things, but subtle was hardly one of them. And so, even as he trailed on and on about Xadia, she slowly began to realize what the real source of his wonder and admiration was.

 

  Smile crossing her face, Claudia took another sip of her tea - no honey this time - and cleared her throat. Callum stopped mid-sentence, a light blush crossing his face as he realized just how long he’d been talking. She took the rare opportunity to interject her own question as he took a sip of his own drink. “So.” she began carefully, “How are you and Rayla doing?”

 

  She’d expected a deepening of the blush, maybe even a casual dismissal. What she hadn’t been expecting was him to choke on his drink, pulling tea up and through his nose in a display that immediately dispelled any notions of the mighty archmage from her mind. She found herself laughing again - an effect that Callum seemed to have on her regardless of his intention - while he blustered in his chair. 

 

  He leapt from said chair, quickly moving to stand beside the fireplace as he pulled a handkerchief from somewhere in his robes. Wiping his face clean, he turned to Claudia, sheepish smile crossing his features as he faltered for words. “It’s fine, w-why do you ask?”

 

  There was a silence, broken only by Claudia’s quiet laughter, before she leveled Callum with a gaze that had quailed much more stubborn men. “Fine huh? Then why did you try to drown yourself in tea as soon as I asked you about it?” His expression turned pensive, and there was another long moment before he answered.

 

  “Rayla and I are fine. Really!” He exclaimed in response to her disbelieving expression. “We’re just in a weird spot right now. We’ve been traveling together for a while, and I guess we just look closer than we actually are, so people get weird ideas.” He paused, looking pointedly at his old friend before continuing. “And I guess that just weirds her out, so she’s been different lately, which affects me, because I kind of depend on her for a lot of stuff. So it’s all weird.”

 

“Callum, you realize that you just used the word ‘weird’ four times in that little monologue?” She asked, the sardonicism apparent in her voice.

 

“Yeah?” He asked defensively. 

 

“Yes, you did. And I distinctly recall you telling me that you hate to use the same word more than once in a single sitting, so what’s really going on?”

 

  She leaned into the conversation, elbows finding support on her knees as she looked up at him. Callum sighed, walking back to his chair and throwing himself into the seat. His hands came up like gates over his face, palms covering his eyes like it would make her disappear. But Claudia wasn’t going anywhere, and she indicated as much by picking up one of the couch cushions and throwing it at him.

 

  It sailed halfway across the room before it simply… stopped. Claudia gasped despite herself, caught off guard by the sudden and casual use of magic. “Do you even need to use the words anymore?” She found herself asking, the question slipping out before she could stop it. “I just say the words inside my head for this kind of stuff. And the gesture doesn’t need to be as big for this small of an effect.” He replied from behind the barrier of his hands. He waggled a single finger, muttered something under his breath, and the pillow shot back at her, much faster than she had thrown it.

 

  Callum peeked out from his bastion in response to the dull thud as the pillow hit her in the chest. It didn’t quite knock the wind from her, but it still wasn’t a fun experience, and she opened her mouth to say as much until took his hands away from his face. How serious of an expression it was set into. The humor in his eyes, despite how distant they seemed to be. 

 

  “It’s likely not a good idea to throw something at a master of the sky arcanum. It never turns out well.” He said, almost mechanically. “Yeah, I see that now.” She responded. Her voice softened as she realized the tension in his frame. The set of his shoulders, the slight shake to his arms, even the way his eyes focused on some far off point. All of it told her that he was miles away from their conversation, though whether he was running away or simply lost was anyone’s guess.

 

  She felt overcome by a desire to reach out and comfort him. To place a hand on his shoulder or even to wrap her arms around his shoulders. She knew him enough to recognize that he was on the brink of shutting down completely, and that kind of outreach had usually worked before, but she had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t work this time. He needed someone else. Wanted someone else.

 

  She’d be lying if she said that there wasn’t a pang in her heart at the thought. She’d cared about him once -  _ really _ cared for him, if she was being honest - and she still did, but anything beyond that had long since been abandoned. She recognized the expression though - the longing for something he couldn’t have - because she’d worn it plenty of times herself. Still, she had to say something. Had to let him know he wasn’t alone.

 

  “Cal?” She asked, defaulting again to that old nickname, itself coming from what felt like centuries ago. “Yeah, Claudia?” He responded, his eyes flicking back to the present for a moment. Claudia collected her thoughts, laying them out the way she knew he would respond to. 

 

“Do you care about Rayla?” She began.

 

“What do you mean? Of course I care about her.” He responded, seemingly incredulous at the fact that she would even ask him such a thing.

 

“How much?” She asked simply.

 

  He took a few long moments, and Claudia watched as the layers he’d put up fell away one by one. She was hardly an artist, but she felt overcome by a desire to somehow put his face to paper as he switched from one expression to another. Frustration gave way to sadness, which gave way to a fierce joy before again lapsing into uncertainty and confusion. The anguish that flashed through his eyes made her ache for her friend, for the man she used to love, before it suddenly gave way to a calm acceptance.

 

  “I’m in love with her.” His voice was a whisper, a half-breath that Claudia had to lean in to hear. The emotions she felt at that simple admission were something she could sort through later, but cutting under it all was a bitter melancholy. 

 

“Then you know what you need to do.” She forced herself to say.

 

  “It’s not that simple Claudia. There’s so much more than our happiness at stake and it just doesn’t work out that we can-” He cut off as Claudia crossed the distance between them for the second time that afternoon. Her expression was fierce, and he quailed at the intensity of it as she cornered him in his own study.

 

  “You listen to me, Callum.” She began, her voice low, insistent, and laced with so much underlying frustration that he could  _ feel  _ it. “You’ve spent the last three years putting the needs of this kingdom before your own. And before that, you were always the one that was caring about other people. Me, Ezran, Soren; we all looked to you for comfort. You have this way of making things better, simpler, that is so important, and you deserve to be happy!” She stopped for a moment, catching her breath as she took in his stunned expression. She lowered to a whisper, wondering if she was talking to herself as much as she was to him. “Gods, you should get to be happy.”

 

  “Claudia, I appreciate the thought but-” He began, only to be cut off again. “No, no ‘buts’. I already know what you’re going to say. Screw the advisors, screw the court, and screw anyone who doesn’t like it. I’ve been here for half a day and I  _ saw  _ the way she was looking at you. We’d all be toast if it wasn’t for her.” Callum flinched at the memory, and as bad as Claudia felt, she knew she couldn’t give up her momentum. “Exactly. Exactly that Callum. She calmed you down so quickly I barely even realized what was happening. You  _ need  _ her you idiot, and if you love her, you should tell her how you feel. I’ve got a feeling that I already know what sort of answer you’d get.”

 

  She walked back to the couch, leaving him stunned as she picked up the cloak she’d tossed over its back. She looked back at him, surprised at the dumbstruck expression on his face. “But you know, that’s just my opinion.” She teased, seemingly snapping him out of whatever state he was in. 

 

“You don’t have to go.” He replied. His voice was quiet, lonely even.

 

  A part of her wanted to stay. Wanted to see where things would go. If  _ she _ could be the one that comforted him. But that wouldn’t be fair. Not to him, or to her. That part of her life was over, and as she turned to leave she caught his gaze with her own. “No Callum, I think it’s time for me to go. I think… I think that we should be friends.” He seemed surprised at what she’d said, and she pressed forward before he could get any ideas. “I think I was still holding on to some hope that we could be more, but I’m realizing that that ship has sailed.”

 

  “It was yours once.” It was a simple phrase, but it gave her all the confirmation she needed. She took that hope, letting it free from its cage, and let it fly away. There was a release, as if a pressure she hadn’t even known was there had suddenly vanished, and she felt a sad smile cross her face. “I know Callum, I know.”

 

  She pressed forward, opening the door, and turning away so that he couldn’t see the tears that were cutting trails down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it has been quite a while. This one is a bit short, but I had to brush off the old writing skills. Things have been beyond crazy on my end, and between a full-time job, two D&D campaigns, and the overtures of my book, I've been having a hell of a time getting back to this. I can't promise that updates will be anywhere near consistent, but I have no intentions of abandoning this work either. Your constant support, even throughout my absence, has given me much-needed strength in what has been a time of storm and stress, and for that I am eternally grateful. I hope that this chapter can express a bit of that.


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